


Aduial: Soul of a Knight

by Eressë (eresse21)



Series: Greenleaf and Imladris [30]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Fourth Age, Gen, M/M, Valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 14:12:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 63,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eresse21/pseuds/Eress%C3%AB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For love of his Elf-knight, Legolas faces the hardest and most bitter test of all. Thirtieth and final story in a series chronicling the millennia-spanning relationship of Legolas and Elrohir from the moment they meet beneath the eaves of Greenwood the Great to the years of the War of the Ring and beyond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Into Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> _The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offense is intended or profit made in my use of them._
> 
> Be warned: This story contains a character death—in a manner of speaking. If you choose to read on, let me assure you this is a love story, _not_ a tragedy. I’m a hopeless romantic and a total sucker for happy endings.

Gondor, _Narwain_ F.A. 88  
The chill air swathed the dimly lit chamber. Not even the bravely crackling blaze in the hearth or the sturdy wooden shutters that shut out the icy wind could dispel the uncommon frigidity of this year’s winter. There were seasons like this in Gondor. Winters that were less than mild and summers that were more bracing than usual.

For a hale man, it simply meant thicker clothing and frequent spells by a warm fire. But for an ailing man, it was cruel weather. Even fatal.

Such was the case of the noble who lay bundled in layered robes of wool and slumbered fitfully beneath the thickest counterpane available. Every once in a while, his hacking coughs and pitiful gasps for breath would resonate through the room. The healer in attendance or his assistant would then lift him up and urge him to expel the foul phlegm or sputum that threatened to choke the very life out of him.

But not his lady wife. She stayed well out of the way.

She looked many years younger than him; one could easily mistake her for a woman in her fourth decade. But in truth, she was five years her husband’s senior, an astonishing one and ninety years. For she was not merely of the line of the few remaining Dúnedain of Middle-earth but also a member of the elven-blooded family of the seaward princedom of Dol Amroth. 

In those of Belfalas’s ruling family where their elven heritage ran true, the length of life was alike to Gondor’s kings—twice or even thrice the span of mortal men’s years. And like Elessar and his kin, they aged only slowly, the tale of their years finally revealed toward the ends of their many days.

In Gilwen of Dol Amroth, the elven gift ran true. While her husband, though the younger, looked frail and spent and wizened, she was still in the prime of her life and would remain so for many more years.

She eyed her lord with well-concealed loathing. Never had she come to care for him; not even a whit. Her contempt for his lesser lineage, his lack of lore and learning, had steadily waxed through the years until her discontent had known no bounds. That resentment had been stoked in particular by one event that had served to blight her perceptions of her marriage and magnify in her mind all that she had missed.

Her breath caught as her thoughts turned down more carnal byways. Of a black night and a darkened room redolent with the elusive scent of northern pines and rushing streams, of sweet heather and wildflower-dappled meadows. And above her, mastering her, the fairest being she could ever have hoped to know. She had never forgotten her taking at his knowing hands; never let go of the memory of hard potent flesh spearing her, filling her utterly and relentlessly, until she had shattered under his thrall.

Gilwen’s eyes snapped open, her fevered musings marred by the wretched sounds coming from the shrouded bed. She looked about and realized the healer was gone. To take his evening meal no doubt. She wondered if he had asked leave of her before departing. Most likely, she admitted. And most likely she had acknowledged him without being fully aware of doing so, deep as she had been in her delightful reverie. 

No matter. She cared little for her husband or his repulsive vapors.

He began to cough once more. Barking, hacking—downright annoying! She waited for the inevitable gurgle as he pulled up the phlegm that plagued his lungs. But instead, he emitted a retching sound. In disgust, she peered across the dark room. Yes, he was vomiting. A vile stream was trickling down the side of his mouth. 

Gilwen started then watched as the man she reluctantly called her lord feebly attempted to turn his head and rid his mouth of the noisome brew. But he failed. And his vomit backed down into his windpipe instead. 

He gagged, then began to choke. His eyes widened in terror and desperation. But Gilwen only watched. Watched as his skin turned ashen and his lips a ghastly blue. Watched as his body convulsed in the last throes of life. Watched until he went irretrievably, eternally still. And then she smiled. 

'I am free,' she thought with appalling joy and relief. 'I am rid of him.' And then another thought came to mind and her eyes gleamed with gladness and wanting. A word. A name.

_Elrohir._

********************************  
Glossary:  
Aduial - Twilight  
Narwain - Sindarin for January

_To be continued…_


	2. I. Sword-Mates

Ithilien, _Gwirith_ F.A. 90  
The idyllic silence of the Reunited Kingdom’s fairest province was shattered by the thundering hooves of the mounts of a company of Elven warriors. The colors and markings on their standard and raiment were not of Gondor or Ithilien but of fabled Imladris in the far north. 

The raven-haired Elf who led them spurred his steed to even greater speed. Though his countenance betrayed nothing of the reasons that drove him thus, his eyes, grey bordering on silver, were dark and focused with single-minded intent on some inner call. For that indeed was what drew him so swiftly and urgently across the length and breadth of the province. 

_Elrohir! Come to me!_

_Almost there, Legolas! Hold on!_

With eerie precision he turned his horse abruptly down a shallow slope headed toward a vast glen obscured by trees and shrubs. His warriors followed him without question. They burst into the midst of a raging battle between fair Elven rangers and foul orkish raiders. 

Though it was nearly a century since the fall of the Dark Lord, Sauron, the loathsome creatures he and his erstwhile master, the fallen Vala, Morgoth Bauglir, had bred in the Elder days still thrived in Middle-earth though their numbers were no longer as fearsome in the south as they had been when Mordor held sway over much of the region. Between the forces of the Prince of Ithilien and the warriors of the elven settlement of Eryn Gael, the orcs had become less a deadly menace to the southern kingdom and more of an irritation in the manner of a gadfly. Of course, that did not in any way recompense either prince for the loss of lives amongst their people and they continued to battle on, their joint goal to finally cleanse Ithilien once and for all of the evil creatures.

Elrohir and his twin, Elladan, were of the same mind, oft joining the forces of Rivendell to the armies of northern Eryn Lasgalen, now ruled by Legolas’s eldest brother, Melthoron, and ably defended by his other sibling, Brethildor. The Misty Mountains were not as easy to rid of the goblins what with the range’s multitude of tunnels and caves and other hiding places eminently suitable as lairs for orcs to live and breed in. 

Nevertheless, that did not deter the northern elven realms in their quest to destroy as many of their enemies as possible. Besides, the brethren of Rivendell had never forsaken their vow to avenge their mother’s torment at the hands of orcs. Nor had they forgotten the grief and loneliness, particularly that of their father, Elrond, that had followed in the wake of her premature departure for the Blessed Realm to seek healing and peace.

Lopping off the head of a goblin with a clean sweep of his blade almost as soon as he arrived, Elrohir’s first instinct was to seek the silver-gold tresses of one single Elf. He soon spotted him, a lithe but deadly figure, cutting down his foes with seeming ease and effortless grace. Assured of the other Elf’s immediate well-being, he turned his attention to decimating the ranks of the enemy.

With the advent of the Imladrin reinforcements, the battle did not last much longer. While the Ithilien Elves had been holding their own against the orcs, no one objected to a swifter denouement of any kind of fighting. Pride had no place in the matter of sparing as many lives as possible.

As soon as the skirmish came to an end, Elrohir dismounted and quickly approached the golden-haired Elf he had sought earlier. Legolas, youngest prince of the Woodland Realm of Greenwood and lord of Eryn Gael, was already overseeing the task of sorting the wounded from the dead, making sure along the way that any surviving orcs joined their slain fellows. The Elves showed no mercy to their vanquished foe, grim in the knowledge that they would be shown none or even worse should the situation be reversed. Sensing the approach of the warrior, the prince glanced up and beamed in welcome.

“You did not pass by Minas Tirith, did you?” he commented, noting the garb of the Elvenlord.

“Nay, I came straight from Imladris,” Elrohir answered. “I did not wish to waste time once I heard your reply to my call.”

“Strange that I can reach you in such instances despite the distance,” Legolas commented. “Yet it has never been my talent.”

The Elf-knight smiled. “Your urgency lends you the needed strength, _ernil nîn_ ”—my prince—he pointed out. He glanced around as the Elves began to drag the orc carcasses into a pile. “I am glad I returned at this time,” he commented. 

Legolas nodded. “Aye, you were ever a force to contend with,” he said. “But I am glad you are back for reasons other than your fearsome skills.”

Elrohir smiled warmly at the prince. He reached out and clasped Legolas by the shoulder, his eyes seeking and catching the other’s gaze. Legolas returned the gesture, his own lips curling into an answering smile.

The look, the touch, the smile they exchanged spoke volumes of what they did not say aloud, evincing millennia of shared friendship, trials, grief, desire, heartbreak and love. In all of Middle-earth there was no union quite like theirs, bound on virtually every level possible to Elfkind. Together they were whole, complete, everything to each other. Friends and sworn kinsmen, allies and war-brothers, lovers and mates. Mere mortals might only see two warrior Elves of long standing friendship. But _Edhil_ perceived the light of love and passion in their ageless eyes.

Elrohir regarded the heap of orc corpses; grimaced at the sight of elven bodies being prepared for burial. Thank Elbereth there were only a few casualties on their side. 

“Whither shall we go?” he queried briefly.

Legolas glanced up at the sky. The sun rode high as the morning progressed. He said, “I have sent scouts ahead to search for the orcs’ current location. In the meantime, we will set up camp not far from here. I would have you look at the wounded, Elrohir.”

The Elf-knight acquiesced with a nod.

The Elves burned the carcasses of their foes then buried their fallen comrades. The morning was waning when they set off to make camp and await the scouts’ return.

Noon found them by a stream that cut through one of Ithilien’s tangled groves. There they washed away the gore and grime of battle and had their midday meal. After a quick bite, Legolas retreated to the tent he now shared with Elrohir. The Elf-rider had gone to the stream to bathe after having his meal.

Clad in a simple shirt and long breeches, the prince sat on his pallet and saw to the business of restringing his bow and examining his arrows for damage. He was halfway through the task when a gust of cool air told him Elrohir had entered the tent. He glanced back at the Elf-warrior welcomingly. But for his breeches and boots, Elrohir was unclothed, his raven tresses and fair skin still damp from his bath. 

“You certainly took your time,” Legolas said with a grin.

Elrorhir snorted. “The stench of orc is no easy thing to dispel,” he pointed out.

“Aye,” the prince readily agreed. “Would that we could remove their stench from Middle-earth forever.”

“They spawn like flies,” Elrohir said. “I do not think we will ever be wholly rid of them. But their numbers are far less than they used to be and for that we should be thankful.”

“I suppose,” Legolas sighed. “But in truth, after their last incursion some twenty years ago, I’d hoped we had seen the last of them in Ithilien at least.”

Elrohir shook his head. “The Misty Mountains are not free of them either. Elladan and I had much to do this past winter, hunting them down. And your brothers have been busy, too, defending Eryn Lasgalen’s borders.” He suddenly smiled. “But take heart, Legolas. The orcs have taken to harassing the Easterlings more frequently than they do our lands.”

Legolas chuckled. “That thought cheers me no end.” His quick mirth faded. “You are right, of course. They are not as numerous as they used to be. But they are still a menace to our people and our peace as well.” He let out his breath. “Will we ever have it, Elrohir?” he asked with some frustration. “True peace, I mean.”

“We will. But it takes time. And many times, we have to fight first in order to win peace.”

Legolas shook his head. “Mayhap we shall know it before Aragorn’s reign ends,” he said wistfully.

Elrohir paused then murmured, “Mayhap.”

The archer looked at him, surprised at his flat tone. “You do not sound too happy at the prospect,” he remarked.

Elrohir sank to his knees, returning his sword to its customary place by his pallet. “A warrior knows little of the ways of peace,” he admitted. “I sometimes wonder what will become of all of us should it finally come. Why think you did the fiercest of the Galadhrim choose to remain? They would rather take their chances amidst the perils of Middle-earth than retire to the placid forests of Valinor.”

Legolas frowned slightly. He regarded the Elf-warrior curiously. “And you? Do you share their feeling? Will you forego the journey to the Blessed Realm?”

Elrohir glanced up, catching the slight trace of anxiety in Legolas’s voice. He shook his head adamantly.

“The sea-call is strong in you. ‘Tis only your oath to Estel that keeps you here,” the twin replied. “But you will one day seek the western shores and I will go with you. For though I love this Middle-earth of ours, I would sooner forsake it than live an eternity without you.”

Legolas smiled brightly then, the twinge of anxiety dissipating with the Elf-knight’s heartfelt declaration.

“The sea-call is strong,” he conceded, “but your lure is much stronger, Aduial. Wherever you are is where I wish to be.” 

The twilight eyes gleamed appreciatively and a small smile tugged at the edges of the twin’s sinuous lips. Feeling at ease once more, Legolas turned his attention back to his task.

He was reaching for another arrow when his wrist was caught in a strong grip. At the same time, he felt his hair drawn aside to bare the back of his neck. A prickle of anticipation skimmed over his skin just before warm lips pressed against his nape, suckling lazily at the smooth flesh. He gasped at the sensation, found himself leaning back into Elrohir. 

The warrior had crept up to him and now knelt behind, his body molding closely to his back, his thighs on either side of the archer’s narrow hips. Legolas caught his breath as Elrohir snaked his arms around him, one encircling his shoulders, the other his waist, pulling him back into the snare of his embrace while he blessed the side of his neck with hungry kisses. The prince quivered as the twin’s questing lips moved upwards to nuzzle him behind his ear.

Trying to corral his rapidly scattering wits, Legolas attempted to reason with the Elf-knight. “We are in the middle of the camp,” he half-groaned. “They will hear us.”

Elrohir’s response was to nibble the delicate tip of one ear making the prince tremble even more violently. He was forced to brace himself by planting his palms on the Elf-warrior’s sinewy thighs on either side of him. 

“Let them,” Elrohir murmured huskily.

Legolas closed his eyes, trying to marshal his thoughts into something coherent. He feared he was on the verge of spectacular failure.

“There-there may be orcs lurking... nearby,” he rasped as Elrohir’s hand slid down from his waist to knead his inner thigh, his strokes dangerously near the juncture where leg met groin.

“I would not care if there were a hundred orcs and a pack of Wargs outside our tent this very moment,” Elrohir purred as his other hand swiftly undid Legolas’s shirt.

“But— I do not— we should not—”

“You protest overmuch for one who is so ready.” The hand on his thigh moved to grip him wickedly a little higher up. “So ripe.”

The prince shuddered needfully. Meanwhile, his shirt was pulled none too patiently off his shoulders and down his arms. He made one last stab at rationality. 

“Elrohir, _melethron_ , can this not wait until after-after…” His weakly voiced plea faded into nothingness when the Elvenlord left a trail of fiery kisses across the tops of his now bared shoulders.

He felt the darkling Elf’s warm breath against his ear once more whilst roaming hands mapped his torso with excruciating attention to detail. Fingers lifted to cup his cheek, compelling him to turn his head and meet the other’s silvery gaze.

“It has been nigh a year since we last coupled, Calenlass,” Elrohir softly growled. “Nay, I will not be denied!”

He caught the archer’s lips in a voracious kiss, invaded his mouth, and plundered its honeyed recesses. Legolas abandoned reason and prudence in the wake of his Elf-knight’s sensual assault. He did not resist when he was borne down upon his pallet. Did not protest as the twin quickly stripped them both of their remaining clothes. Lucid thought neither formed nor registered. Not in the face of his impending ravishment. 

In some things, surrender was much more rewarding than defiance. Elrohir wasted no time reclaiming him with hands and lips and tongue, his knowing attentions leaving Legolas aquiver with wanting and delight. Heated lips moved up the white column of his neck, down to the shallow cleft of his muscled chest, blessing the roseate nipples therein with sharp nips and balming laps that had the prince squealing and giggling most un-regally. Then onwards to the taut wash of his abdomen and the sensitive lines of his groin. Until finally, he felt himself swallowed whole into the warmth of the twin’s mouth. 

The Elf-lord had the Elven prince at his mercy for in matters of a carnal nature, his skills were unparalleled save only perhaps for his like-minded brother, Elladan. Legolas was a most able student but even he had to admit that he was oft times hard pressed to keep up with Elrohir in daring and creativity. Even now he fought a losing battle to silence himself. It was almost impossible, what with that gifted mouth suckling him with maddening thoroughness.

So it was with surprise and a little outrage that he felt Elrohir release him just when he was teetering on the edge of completion.

“Elrohir!” he seethed, his voice rough with frustration. “You cannot leave me thus!”

Elrohir grinned wickedly. “Patience, my prince,” he crooned. “I do not intend to.”

With disquieting deliberateness, he straddled Legolas much to the fair-haired Elf’s consternation. And then, with heart-stopping audacity, he slowly sheathed his prince to the hilt.

Legolas could not hold back the hoarse cry that fled his lips as he was gloved within velvet heat. It was totally unexpected and he was so close to breaking. But the Elf-rider gave him no time to adjust to their reversed roles and proceeded to live up to his name and more besides. Completion came to the prince in a blinding starburst of sheer sensation that left him shaking within and without. He fell back limply upon the pallet, completely and profoundly drained.

Outside, the scouts had returned from their mission earlier than anticipated. Their captain, a warrior maid formerly of Lórien, met with them. 

“The orcs are camped less than two leagues from here,” the lead scout reported. 

“Good,” the Elf-maid approved. “Prince Legolas will be pleased to hear this.” But she made no move to approach his tent.

“Why do you hesitate?” another scout asked, bemused. “He needs to know this at once.”

“I shall tell him later. This can wait.”

“But—”

“ _Later_ ,” the captain repeated more forcefully. The scouts stared at her in surprise and puzzlement. She took pity on them and simply said, “Lord Elrohir is with him.”

Comprehension settled on the other Elves’ faces in an instant. Despite their understandable tension, indulgent grins graced their comely features. 

“You are right,” the lead scout agreed. “This can wait.” 

Within the tent, Legolas opened his eyes when he felt Elrohir move off him to kneel between his legs. One look at the warrior’s body told him the twin had not yet had his pleasure.

“You–you have not—” he exhaustedly whispered, raising himself on his elbows and reaching out to touch the other.

Elrohir shook his head, caught him by the wrist and firmly pushed him back down. “Nay, _meleth nîn_ ”—my love—he cooed. “I am not done with you yet.”

“You aren’t?” Legolas quavered with wide-eyed apprehension. 

Goosebumps arose along his arms as the twin chuckled huskily, his argent eyes glinting ominously in the dim light. Before he could guess what Elrohir had in mind, the Elf-lord made his move.

Grinning roguishly, without any warning whatsoever, he lifted the archer’s hips and summarily entered him with one smooth thrust. At the same time, he quickly clamped a hand over Legolas’s mouth, stifling his strangled cry.

Legolas felt his body surging back to life. There was something incredibly erotic about being taken this way when he was too spent to do more than submit to the warrior’s desire. Soon, his body thrummed and hummed with rekindled pleasure as Elrohir impaled him again and again. He could not quite believe it.

Elrohir saw the shock and incredulity in Legolas’s eyes; watched as they were rapidly displaced by pure, unbridled passion. It only served to inflame him further. Nothing pleased him more than to educe that utterly rapt, all-encompassing look of undiluted lust in his _bereth_ ’s fair countenance. It drove him wild, heated his blood, made his heart sing, heightened his senses nearly as effectively as actual physical contact.

His delving turned almost brutal as the desire to wholly possess, to claim complete ownership of his Greenleaf overcame him. He clasped and stroked the prince’s reawakened length vigorously; caressed, bit, sucked his throat, shoulders and chest, leaving crimson stains upon the white skin. A twelve-month was simply too long a period to be parted by league upon league of Middle-earth terrain from one so beloved and desired. 

The effects of his near violent ministrations were cataclysmic to say the least. The tension in their bodies swiftly built up to a near-unbearable level, heightening as their feelings surged between them along the affirming channel of their binding. Before long, neither Elf could fully suppress his impassioned gasps and feral moans. Desperate not to scandalize the warriors outside any more than they undoubtedly already were, Legolas grasped Elrohir by the nape and hauled the darkling Elf to him so that their mouths melded together with singeing ardor.

The Elf-knight swallowed his keening groan as he came to satisfaction anew and he, in turn, smothered Elrohir’s as he, too, reached completion, spending himself deep within the archer’s core. Afterwards, with raven and wheaten locks mingling in glorious confusion and lean limbs wantonly entwined, they drifted in and out of the sweet haze that oft followed in the wake of raging passion.

Legolas peered lazily at his mate, awed by what had just passed between them.

“You never cease to amaze me,” he murmured.

Elrohir grinned back languorously. “Is that a complaint?”

“Nay,” the prince smiled back. “Only a fool would complain about your considerable skills in the bedchamber. And any other place you should choose to sate your lust,” he added with a shake of his head.

Elrohir chuckled. “Routine makes for tedium. I intend to spend eternity discovering every which way to pleasure your most enticing body.”

“Not to mention boggle my already addled mind,” Legolas retorted, his cheeks displaying a veritable riot of reds. “And everyone else who hears us,” he groaned as realization struck him. “I wager we will be the foremost topic of interest over the campfires tonight!”

“What of it?” Elrohir drawled.

“I do not enjoy having my private life dissected for the entertainment of others,” Legolas growled, sitting up and reaching for his clothes. “Besides, ‘tis embarrassing to have everyone know how we spent the afternoon.”

“Legolas, we are bound,” Elrohir pointed out. “‘Tis normal for us to couple.” He grinned again as the prince’s blushes refused to fade away. “Ai, you may be the finest archer in all Middle-earth, a warrior of great name and stature and a prince of Elves without peer yet here you are—undone by something as primal and natural as the act of love.” He, too, sat up and began to dress.

Legolas sighed. “I know you think me prudish but ‘twas never my way to be so open in public about this. I was taught to be discreet, to keep such things out of sight or earshot of others. As were my father’s people.”

Elrohir leaned over and kissed him gently. “I know, Calenlass. But you forget, most of the warriors with us right now are lusty Galadhrim. Believe me when I say that not only did they most likely approve of what we have just done but may even now be seeking partners of their own to while away the rest of the day.”

At Legolas’s wide-eyed stare he laughed. “You stayed for two weeks in the Golden Wood during the Quest. Surely you noticed how untroubled the Lórien Elves were by such things. After all, their homes were fair and cozy but they were not built to muffle sound.”

Legolas’s blushes returned. “Ah, so you _did_ notice,” Elrohir grinned. “And did you spend the nights there with your face perpetually awash in scarlet?”

The prince groaned. “Gimli and I debated that,” he admitted. “He called us the most licentious race in all of Arda. And in truth, after observing the Galadhrim, I was hard-pressed to gainsay him. But he was so insulting, I ended up defending all of Elfkind instead as well as I could.”

Elrohir guffawed. “Poor Gimli. I still recall his expression during our binding Rites. He must have felt hopelessly beleaguered surrounded by a ‘passel of confounded Elves’.”

This time Legolas joined in the mirth as he remembered his Dwarf friend’s discomfiture. “Aye, he vowed he would never let himself be trapped in such a situation again. He will probably keep his oath, too, until such time that we should issue another invitation requesting his august presence.”

He started as he heard his captain discreetly call to him from outside. Rising, he quickly exited the tent and met with the warrior elleth who apprised him of the scouts’ discoveries. As she was concluding her report, Elrohir emerged from the tent, fully dressed and armed. Legolas raised an amused eyebrow.

“I see you anticipated my call to battle,” he remarked.

“Of course,” the Elvenlord replied. “What other reason would there be for us to be _interrupted_?”

At the suggestive choice of words by the twin, the slightest hint of color stained the prince’s cheeks and the lips of the she-captain twitched suspiciously. Struggling for some dignity and composure, Legolas elucidated: “The scouts located the orc encampment just two leagues northeast of here. We should come upon them by this evening, but I fear we will have no time for rest this night.”

Elrohir smirked. “As to that, I am already more than well rested, _melethron_.”—lover.

With a smug smile, he sauntered away leaving Legolas to blush a nice shade of crimson all over again while the captain struggled heroically but not too successfully to conceal a knowing grin. 

**************************  
Glossary:  
Gwirith - Sindarin for April  
Edhil - Elves  
Aduial - Twilight  
Calenlass - Greenleaf  
bereth - spouse

_To be continued…_


	3. II. Reflections

The soothing murmur of the pristine spring and the gentle rustling of reed and leaf and brush were all that broke the quiet of the glade. Elrohir leaned against a slender beech and breathed in the herb-scented air that was characteristic of Ithilien.

It was good to be back in the fairest province of Gondor. Back in Eryn Gael and back with Legolas. In the years since their binding, the Elf-knight had come to call this precious neck of the Ithilien woods his home; one he now missed as dearly as he had once yearned for Imladris. And missed it he had this last sojourn in the north. He had been away for close to four years.

The preceding twelve months had been the longest he’d ever spent away from Legolas in all the years of their espousal. The archer had travelled north thrice in all this time to be with him but this past year that had not been possible and they had endured their separation with much regret and longing. But he had needed the four years in Rivendell to set his affairs in order. He would not be returning to the hidden vale, the place of his birth. Never again.

He and Elladan were finally consigning Imladris to legend. Many of their people were departing for the Havens and taking ship for Valinor. The brethren, however tempted to join them, were still bound to their now mortal sister and foster king-brother. They would wait out the couple’s remaining years in Middle-earth before leaving the Hither Lands forever.

To this end, Elladan had decided to move his family to Gondor for good. He and Nimeithel and their sons, Elendir and Elros, would stay on in Imladris another year before they joined Elrohir and Legolas in Ithilien. Lindir would be with them now that he was formally betrothed to the younger twin, Elros. So would Iörwen and Ailios and many of the Imladrin warriors under Daurin and Enedrion—all remaining with Elladan and Elrohir out of loyalty and friendship.

They would take ship for the Blessed Realm only after the Evenstar’s leave-taking of the world. And that was not too far off in the future.

With the foresight of their kindred, the brethren had already seen the day when their foster-brother would take his last breath. Though still hale and youthful looking, Aragorn was nevertheless in his twilight years. As with Rivendell, his reign was drawing to a close and would also pass into legend. And when he joined his fathers beyond the circles of the world, Arwen would not be long in following him. Estel had ever been her reason for lingering and living. He would be her reason for ending. 

Elrohir sighed. That had been a constant theme in the past few decades. Death. The loss of friends. The sorrow that came with that loss. It weighed heavily on the immortal comrades left behind.

He recalled Legolas’s grief at the deaths of Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took in Minas Tirith, preceded by only a few years by the passing of Éomer King of Rohan. He and Legolas had fortunately been in residence in Ithilien when each of the Hobbits had passed from this life. But that had been of little comfort to the distraught archer.

Over the years, he had kept in close contact with all the surviving members of the Company that had set out from Rivendell on the daunting journey to destroy the One Ring. He had mourned Boromir’s untimely death during the Quest for, though the man had been misguided in his beliefs, he had been a valiant companion and a true-heart. Gandalf and Frodo’s departure for Aman, and later Sam’s, had not been painful for there had been the promise of reunion one day to succor him.

But Merry and Pippin had been the last of the Halflings Legolas had come to dote upon during the perilous and arduous months of the long dark road to Mordor. Their deaths just a little less than a decade after Sam’s departure had left him deeply bereaved. Now there was only Aragorn and Gimli.

Elrohir knew Legolas dreaded Aragorn’s inevitable loss. The Elven prince was paying the full price of gaining and maintaining deep friendships with mortals. For unlike the Imladrin brethren whose father had fostered Aragorn’s line down through the centuries, he had not had the opportunity to live with and therefore learn to cope with the aging and eventual passing of men. Even more would he have despaired had he been compelled to witness Gimli’s passing. Their friendship had grown ever stronger with the years and Legolas considered the Dwarf his closest non-Elven comrade.

At least, Elrohir and Elladan had been able to allay his fears about yet another grievous loss. They had revealed to him the knowledge they had long kept secret—their grandmother’s true gift to Gimli. Knowing the stubborn Dwarf-lord, they had feared he would as much balk at it as accept it. But Legolas would most likely be able to convince his friend to take the gift and that in turn would spare him the need to bid the Dwarf goodbye. As he been forced to do with yet another good friend.

Most recently, he and Legolas had kept company with Faramir, Steward of Gondor, until his death just eight years ago. That had shocked them both. While Éowyn’s earlier passing had not been unexpected, his had taken them all by surprise. They had thought he would prove as long-lived for it seemed the elven heritage of his family ran true in him. But Faramir had been terribly lonely in the wake of his beloved wife’s death even with his children and grandchildren about him. Sorrow and bereavement had hastened his passing rather than age or illness. He had followed Éowyn soonest rather than do without her love.

Now his son, Boromir, was Prince of Ithilien in his stead. He was not only a worthy Steward to Elessar, but a close and steadfast friend of Eldarion’s as well.

Just thinking of Aragorn’s only son and heir brought a smile to Elrohir’s somber countenance. Eldarion and his wife, Ilien, were the proud parents of three handsome sons and two comely daughters. As for his five sisters, the three older princesses, Eleniel, Romenna and Mîrewen, were all happily wed and had presented Aragorn and Arwen with lovely and lively grandchildren. The fifth and youngest princess, Gilraen, named after Aragorn’s mother, was a pretty and precocious nine-year-old who bid fair to be as beautiful and feisty as Arwen, while the fourth, Anóriel, was affianced to a prince of Harad, a descendant of the _Edain_ of the Southron realm formerly referred to as Black Númenoreans. 

Their betrothal was but the latest evidence of the continued peace and goodwill between Gondor and Harad. The Valar willing, that close alliance would continue long after the last of the Firstborn had left the shores of Middle-earth.

As for Legolas...

Thoughts of his golden prince warmed his heart and balmed his soul. Legolas was his reason for having chosen the path of immortality, his reason for his deep contentment and happiness. His reason for being.

The archer had given himself wholly and devotedly to his Elf-knight. Not a moment passed that they did not feel the bond of their espousal flow between them, surging and ebbing according to distance and circumstances, but never disappearing completely. He had only to reach deep into himself, to his spirit, and he would know the other’s soothing presence and abiding love.

His range of vision was precipitately filled with the archer’s incandescent countenance in that instant and he had to smile. He always enjoyed it when the woodland prince crept up on him and took him unawares. It meant a sudden pushing away of his various concerns and a most welcome invasion of his senses by his fair spouse’s comely visage and enticing scent. Not to mention his sensual attentions.

Legolas leaned in to kiss him gently but thoroughly. For several minutes they remained as they were, their mouths clinging, arms weaving around the other, bodies pressed tightly together. While always reserved about such matters in the presence of others, Legolas had no inhibitions with Elrohir when they were alone together. He had come a long way since those days in Greenwood when the duality of elven nature had been repressed and the ancient path forbidden to the Wood-elves of that forest realm. 

He drew back now, blue eyes darkening in need and love. Wordlessly, he raised his hands to undo the ties on Elrohir’s jerkin. Argent eyes as dark with desire, the Elf-knight did likewise for him. Soon they were both unclad and more than ready to love each other in all senses of the word. 

The soft, sweet grass of the glade was all the bedding they needed as they sank down together, bodies already molded against each other, mouths caught in a rapturous duel, hands roaming to touch and caress and possess.

_Love me, Aduial._

_Always._

Legolas hissed in wanton need as Elrohir took him slowly and utterly. In all his years, only the Elf-knight had claimed his body and heart and spirit for his own and he had never regretted his full surrender. In their binding, he had known the bliss that came of giving one’s self to another in love. And Elrohir had returned that love in fullest measure. There was nothing in this world that meant more to the prince than his darkling spouse. He looked forward to an eternity with him in Valinor. 

With every measured plunge into his body and every steady stroke of his turgid shaft, exquisite sensation rippled through him, building the heady rapture that portended a shattering climax. He let go of himself; did not attempt to withhold even in part the free-flow of emotion and pleasure that swept across to Elrohir. A like wave of thought and feeling overwhelmed him and he gasped out the warrior’s name. Fighting to keep from coming to completion, he moaned when Elrohir quickened his pace and deepened his thrusts, clutched almost desperately at the warrior’s powerful form as he moved above him. 

_Let go, Calenlass. Let me see your joy._

The gentle yet heated demand shattered what control the archer may have yet possessed. Crying out sobbingly, he explosively spilled his seed between them even as he instinctively tightened his muscles around the Elf-knight’s piercing length and locked his legs around his waist, drawing him as deeply as possible into his trembling body.

This fiercely passionate response proved Elrohir’s undoing. Shuddering helplessly in the throes of his own completion, he sank hard into his golden mate, groaning as he spent himself in utmost rapture. Shaking hands captured his face, pulled him close for a breath-stealing spate of kisses. Their bodies sated for the moment, they now revelled in the tender fusing of their hearts.

At length, they lay quiet, Elrohir’s head resting upon Legolas’s chest, the archer’s legs still loosely but unyieldingly wound about him, a subtle indication that he did not desire for the warrior to withdraw from him just yet. Elrohir chuckled softly. 

“Will you not release me, _ernilen_?”—my prince—he softly queried.

“Nay, _melethron_ ”—lover—came the whispered reply. “Never.”

Another affectionate laugh. “We cannot stay thusly forever.”

“More’s the pity.” A regretful sigh. “Would that we could stay joined longer. There is a–a wondrous closeness between us when we are coupled. To be one with you in body and heart and spirit... ‘tis a feeling beyond compare. I yearn for it, my Elf-knight. Without cease.”

Elrohir gazed at him in wonder. “You have never told me of this longing before, Legolas,” he quietly said.

“I did not realize until late that ‘twas what I desired,” Legolas admitted, tracing a finger along the warrior’s elegant jaw. “What I longed for.” 

The twin’s eyes glittered. “I shall grant your desire as oft as I can,” he promised. “Will the whole of tonight suffice for the present?”

Legolas stared at him. “The whole of tonight? I should very much like to see if you manage that,” he conceded somewhat skeptically.

Elrohir laughed. “You shall, Calenlass,” he teased. “When I am with you, ‘tis remarkably easy to maintain the necessary state of potency your wish demands.” 

Legolas colored slightly but he grinned nonetheless, more than used to his mate’s lubricious humor by now. 

“ _Melethen_ , much as I enjoy where I am right now, I do not believe it wise to remain in this position out in the open,” Elrohir mildly reminded him. “Not that I care, but you would should anyone come upon us.”

“No one would dare intrude on us here.”

“In an emergency, someone might.”

Legolas sighed and released his spouse. Elrohir was right, of course. He would be far more discomfited in such a situation than the warrior. It was one thing to be caught in each other’s arms. But to have someone see him still lying beneath Elrohir and... Best not to open himself to something so embarrassing as that. He could never be wantonly oblivious enough to bear it. 

The warrior rolled on his back and, drawing Legolas into the curve of his arm, coaxed him to lay his head on his shoulder. Quietly, they talked about events that had unfolded in the preceding year. Of the birth of Aragorn’s newest grandchild by his daughter, Mîrewen, just this very month... the creation of Gimli’s latest masterpiece—an exquisite coronet of _mithril_ for Rohan’s King Elfwine... Legolas’s new-found interest in ship-building and his visits to Edhellond for instruction in this worthy craft from Dol Amroth’s master shipwrights... The Woodland Realm’s most recent doings...

“The next time you write Melthoron, you can congratulate him for having found a mate at last,” Elrohir grinned of a sudden. 

“He did?” Legolas exclaimed in surprise. “Nimeithel mentioned nothing of this in her last letter.”

“We found out at the same time,” Elrohir explained. “During our last visit to Eryn Lasgalen just before I returned here.”

“Ai, that is so like Melthoron not to inform us,” Legolas muttered. “So, who is the lucky Elf-maid?”

“ _Ellon._ ” 

For a moment, Legolas could only stare at him in shock, mouth agape in unwonted gracelessness.

“Who—?”

“Haldorn.”

“Sweet Eru!” Legolas drew in a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. “Haldorn? My father’s most renowned warrior?”

“The very same.”

“But–but he was ever against— as was Melthoron— well, that is until Elladan—”

“You are stuttering, beloved. Slow down and do not forget to breathe.”

Legolas closed his eyes and pressed his face against Elrohir’s chest for several seconds, trying to restore order to his muddled thoughts. After a while, he looked up again.

“Who would have thought he would take my path?” he said in amazement. “Even after our binding, I know he remained uncomfortable with my choice.”

Elrohir said gently: “Mayhap they could deny their hearts no longer.” 

Legolas nodded. “Mayhap. I wish him and Haldorn well.” He shook his head in mingled amusement and bemusement. And then he looked at Elrohir in sudden recollection of something. “Ah, before I forget, did Aragorn send word to you? He and Arwen are holding a feast this June in celebration of the birth of Mîrewen’s latest child. Will Elladan and Nimeithel be here?”

“Aye, they will come to Gondor for the occasion, then return to Imladris for another year before joining us here for good.”

Legolas gazed at his mate curiously. “Will you miss Imladris?” he murmured.

“As much as you miss Eryn Lasgalen,” Elrohir softly said. “But as I told you before, Legolas, my home is where my heart is. You are my heart and always will be.”

The sapphire eyes gleamed in pleasure. “So you have,” he whispered. “And I will never tire of hearing you say so.” He raised himself slightly and leaned down to kiss his Elf-knight with all the tenderness and fervor of a besotted lover. 

The kiss could not remain just so. Not after the prolonged separation they had endured. It was another hour or so before they were at last ready to part their bodies anew. Elrohir smiled and, rising, pulled Legolas to his feet as well.

“Come, my Greenleaf, let us bathe before we go back,” he cooed. “Else every Elf we meet will know what passed between us.” He stroked the archer’s already starting to stain cheeks and laughed softly. “I would not have you use up your life’s worth of blushes. And so prettily do you do so at that.”

“Watch your tongue, Elf!” Legolas objected indignantly. “I will not have you use that word on me. What am I? A virginal Shireling?”

“Nay, but you could pass for one with your so very charming inhibitions!”

Their spell in the spring was a spirited one, needless to say.

**************************  
Glossary:  
melethen – my love  
Aduial - Twilight  
Calenlass - Greenleaf 

_To be continued…_


	4. III. Sins of the Past

Gondor, _Nórui_ F.A. 90  
They went to Minas Tirith with that typical sense of elation and reluctance they always felt whenever they travelled to the Guarded City. The elation stemmed from the prospect of being with close kin and kith again. The reluctance came of the need to be circumspect. To pretend they were nothing more than the closest of friends. 

Apart from the elven communities still extant in Middle-earth, only a select and trusted handful of mortals knew of their relationship. Aside from the continued human aversion to same-kind lovers there was also the political aspect to deal with. In spite of all his years of selfless service to Gondor, there were still men who saw Legolas as a threat to their own ambitions and would do anything to limit the archer’s influence on Elessar whether directly or through the king’s foster brothers. As such both Elves maintained secrecy regarding their espousal. It was either that or risk a tide of misguided reprisal against Legolas, which in turn would lead to Elrohir forsaking Gondor as well. As neither wished to abandon the realm and its king, both adhered to a policy of discretion when it came to their relationship.

Not that Elrohir took the constraint meekly. He pushed the boundaries of said discretion and flaunted his friendship with the Greenwood prince if not their love. And even then, he frequently tested the limits to which he could show his affection for the golden-maned Elf. As he once pointed out to Legolas when the latter chided him, what was the use of putting up with Men’s absurd notions about elven traditions and practices if they did not occasionally take advantage of them? But even he knew the limits. And observed them albeit grudgingly.

They were soon joined in the City by Gimli who came post-haste from Aglarond to be with his old friends again in so joyous an event. Elladan and Nimeithel followed shortly, but not their twins. Elendir and Elros had chosen to spend the summer in Eryn Lasgalen with their uncles, Melthoron and Brethildor. It would most likely be their last opportunity to live for an extended period of time in their mother’s homeland.

The occasion was, for all intents and purposes, supposed to be an exclusive one. The guests were limited to family, good friends and Gondor’s most loyal vassals. But since it was the king’s grandchild in question, the feast could hardly be a small, intimate gathering. Granted, the venue for it was the smaller main hall of the White Tower rather than vast Merethrond. But while the number of guests was not counted in the thousands, neither was it less than a couple of hundreds. 

The Elves did not mingle overmuch with the other guests but remained for the most part by the royal couple. However, they did lend their grace and charm when and where needed. Gimli, too, chose to stay by them though he also kept company with many of the human friends he had made over the years. 

Legolas smiled amiably as the Prince of Dol Amroth crossed his path. The Elf-prince fondly recalled the man’s grandfather. He had not allowed the past to get in the way of friendship with Imrahil’s son and successor and had even been amongst the guests when Elphir wed a second time. Elrohir had not been as warm, but remained gracious and civil nevertheless. Legolas smothered a grin at the memory of the Elf-knight’s lingering suspicions of Elphir’s intentionsm but felt gratified just the same that the warrior had been so possessive of his regard. 

He looked fondly at Elrohir as the latter sauntered back to him after hearkening to Aragorn’s summons on some matter or another. Beside him, Elladan and Nimeithel were deep in conversation with Gimli about the Dwarf’s latest improvements to Aglarond. He was half listening to their discussion and half keeping an eye on Elrohir when a woman suddenly slipped in front of the Elf-warrior, hindering his progress. Legolas’s breath caught. It was Gilwen.

Elrohir nearly cursed when he was summarily cut off by this woman with whom he had lain but once more than three score years ago. He forced himself to greet her politely though his manner was blatantly less than welcoming or willing. To no avail. Gilwen was either too obtuse or too persistent to take note of his reticence. Elrohir barely stifled the impulse to glower at her. He vexedly complained in silence that she of all folk should be so long-lived and therefore such a constant bother to him. 

In Gilwen the elven blood that flowed in the veins of the ruling family of Dol Amroth ran true. Like Eldarion’s wife, Ilien, Gilwen was long-lived and aged only slowly. Though past ninety, she looked little more than a mortal female in her late thirties or early forties. She had grown from a pretty girl into a handsome woman. 

Elrohir felt the usual prickle of discomfort whenever he encountered her. It was some seventy years since he had misguidedly spent one night with her. To him it had been but an insignificant tryst designed to assuage the frustration and anger he’d felt at the time. But it was quite apparent that, to her, it had meant much, much more.

Every time they met, she cast covetous eyes upon him, her gaze practically screaming to him how much she longed for his company once more. In a bid to discourage her from hoping for anything more than a polite word from him, Elrohir had taken pains to avoid being alone anywhere with her. But now, he could not evade her lest it be misconstrued as outright rudeness to a lady. Smiling tightly, he courteously responded to her attempts to converse with him but remained ready to escape at the first opportune moment.

Gilwen was babbling to him about how much she had missed talking to him, how she had never forgotten his kindness to her, how she had endured her loveless marriage by recalling that one oh-so-special night with him. Elrohir inwardly winced at her almost girlish delight, so at odds with her more mature appearance. That she still desired him was more than obvious. Thank the Powers that she was married and could not openly act upon that desire unless he reciprocated. And that he was not about to do.

“But all my waiting is done now, my lord,” she was saying, happiness shining in her eyes. “I am no longer fettered. I may act upon my desires at long last.”

Elrohir blinked bemusedly. “How so, my lady?” he asked distractedly.

“Did you not know? My husband passed away two years ago. I am free, my lord!”

Elrohir just managed to smother a gasp of muted horror. There was no mistaking the intent behind her so joyfully uttered announcement. He flicked a glance at his companions all of whom had abruptly fallen silent at her words. 

The Elvenlord took in the expectant gaze of the woman opposite him. With an apprehensive sigh, he held her gaze and quietly said,” But _I_ am not, my lady.”

It took her a moment to comprehend his terse answer. Then her eyes widened disbelievingly. 

“Nay, it cannot be,” she almost exclaimed. “I have waited so long, this cannot be!” Sudden tears began to trickle down her suddenly ashen cheeks. She began to cry, drawing the attentions of other nearby guests. “Please, tell me this isn’t true.”

“I am sorry, _hiril nîn_ ”—my lady—Elrohir replied. 

“Who?” she demanded. 

Elrohir hesitated. He had no worries that she would not understand his relationship with Legolas. Her family was descended from an Elven foremother after all. But he could not be certain how she would react to the discovery that he had bound himself to the Elf-prince who was still regarded with envy by many nobles in Gondor. There was no guarantee she would hold her tongue and that would only make things uncomfortable for Legolas. In the end, he merely shook his head.

She was sobbing uncontrollably now and guests were beginning to crane their necks to see what the commotion was all about. 

“My lady, I think it would be best for you to return to your chamber,” Elrohir softly suggested. 

She became aware of the attention she was attracting. Flushing with embarrassment, she scooped up her skirts and hurried from the hall. Only then did the others join the younger twin. Legolas wordlessly placed a comforting hand on his arm. 

Other than Legolas, only Elladan knew of his one-night tryst with Gilwen. But Nimeithel and Gimli were perceptive enough to draw their own fairly accurate conclusions as to what may have once passed between the younger twin and the mortal woman. However, they did not try to confirm their suppositions but only joined Legolas and Elladan in silently imparting their succor and understanding to the Elf-knight 

The uncomfortable silence was finally broken by Gimli who refused to let the incident mar their merriment. “And you wonder why I refuse to wed!” he gruffly remarked. “‘Tis a dangerous business, love is. And, if I may add, there is such a thing as being too handsome for your own good, my good Elves. Look at the trouble it causes!”

His timely humor lightened the mood considerably. Elrohir smiled faintly. “Thank you, my friend,” he said. He glanced at Legolas apologetically. “I am sorry, Calenlass,” he murmured. 

Legolas shook his head. “‘Tis hardly your fault that she desires you,” he softly replied. “You have always been irresistible, _melethron_.”—lover.

The others laughed while, with darkened _mithril_ eyes, Elrohir promised his golden prince proper recompense for his support after the feast. After a few more jests, most of them at the rueful younger twin’s expense, they were able to put the awkward incident behind them and enjoy the festivities.

oOoOoOo

It was near the midnight hour when Gilwen left her chamber and made her way to the corridor of the royal apartments. She was not yet recovered from the evening’s disappointment.

Even now she did not know what she hoped to accomplish in seeking out Elrohir. But the wild thought had come to her that surely the Elf-lady who owned his heart would not mind if she, Gilwen, stole just a few moments with him. After all, the other had all of eternity to possess the Elf-warrior. Surely she would not begrudge Gilwen the few moments she might hope to share with Elrohir.

The thought grew and took hold in her mind. It drove away her despair and gave her renewed hope. By the time she came to his door she was full of resolve.

She opened the door and slipped into the darkened sitting room. In the bedchamber beyond, golden light flickered from the fire in the hearth. Gathering her robe to her body, she made to approach, thinking to surprise the Elf-lord and mayhap persuade him to let her warm his bed this night. 

She crept to the door of the bedchamber and peeped into the room. Strange. No one was there. But clothing lay strewn upon the floor, as if they had been removed hastily and flung down helter-skelter, the owners in a hurry to be rid of them. She heard low voices and realized they emanated from the bathing chamber. Gilwen sneaked up to the arched doorway of the bathing chamber and peered in. 

The oversized bath was filled with steaming water. Elrohir leaned back against one side of the tub, his eyes closed as he let the warm water soothe his senses. Another Elf took up the opposite end of the bath. It was Prince Legolas.

Gilwen was not appalled to find them together. Shared baths were common among the men of Gondor; many made good use of Minas Tirith’s public baths. And the few who had the luxury of private bathing chambers within their own homes were certainly not averse to sharing theirs with close kith or kin. What she did feel was disappointment anew at not finding the darkling Elf alone. 

She was about to retreat in frustration when Legolas partially rose and moved forward to settle himself before Elrohir, an oval of herb-scented soap in his hand. Quietly, gently, he bathed the warrior’s torso, his hands plying the lather over the taut muscles beneath his fingers. Gilwen stopped to watch, a feeling of unease settling in the pit of her stomach. 

There was something about the Elf-prince’s actions that disturbed her. It was one thing to scrub the back of one’s bathing companion for after all it was difficult to thoroughly wash what was largely beyond one’s reach. But what Legolas was doing seemed inordinately intimate. 

But perhaps she was making too much of the gesture, she chided herself. After all, they were Elves and the Firstborn had many customs that seemed quite strange to Men. She watched as the archer rinsed the lather off the twin’s body. Elrohir remained quite still, his languid smile showing his appreciation of Legolas’s ministrations. Yes, Gilwen assured herself, ‘twas only the prince’s desire to give ease to his friend. 

But just as she began to feel her discomfort start to dissipate, Legolas leaned over Elrohir and claimed his mouth in a long, ardent kiss. The flutter in Gilwen’s belly stilled and turned into a dead weight. She hastily stifled a gasp as the blond archer proceeded to let his lips trail over the dark-haired Elf’s glistening throat, shoulders and chest. His hands slipped beneath the water, their intent quite clear when Elrohir sucked his breath in shudderingly then arched visibly into their touch. Gilwen could only stare in shock. 

As Elrohir had correctly surmised, Gilwen was not ignorant of the duality of elven nature though she had never felt it in herself. It seemed to be a phenomenon that affected only the men of her family. Nonetheless, she had never witnessed such a pairing before, not even amongst her kinsmen who conducted their affairs with considerable discretion. She was understandably stunned at this first sight of intimacy between two _ellyn_ , or male Elves. 

Oddly enough, instead of worrying her, it reassured her in her desperate musings. Of a sudden, she thought she understood. He had said he was not free. Was that because he could not deny the Elven prince? Mayhap he was compelled to submit to the other Elf! 

With a smirk, Legolas drew back slightly. The Elf-knight’s eyes slowly opened. She watched as Legolas idly turned his back on the Elvenlord; she could not quite hear what he said but his gesture made it clear he had asked the latter to help him wash his back. Elrohir did as he was bid, his hands moving over the archer’s pale back, massaging the sleek muscles as he did. Gilwen felt her assumptions more than validated. Relief in this conclusion mingled with indignation at Legolas for forcing himself upon the twin. 

But just then, Elrohir suddenly pulled Legolas backwards to settle between his legs so that the prince sat on the edge of the embrasure with his back flush against the Elf-lord’s chest. Elrohir’s hands snaked around and began to ostensibly soap the archer’s chest and abdomen. But his actions were no more innocent than Legolas’s had been earlier. There was no mistaking the intent of his kneading, stroking, searching fingers as the archer’s breathing quickened and roughened. 

One hand purposefully dipped into the water. In the next instant, Legolas gasped and nearly reared up but the warrior pulled him back with his encircling arm and trapped him against his chest. The prince could do little more than writhe in his embrace, breathing raggedly as he did. There was no mistaking what Elrohir was doing to him under cover of the water. 

Gilwen froze in horrified disillusionment. In that moment, all her carefully marshaled arguments came tumbling down around her. Elrohir’s desirous expression, his very actions belied all her assumptions about his relationship with Legolas. It announced quite clearly that he owned the woodland prince as much as the prince owned him. 

Rooted to the spot, she could only stare as Elrohir coaxed Legolas to slightly rise then pulled him back down onto his lap. The prince’s expression graphically indicated the moment of their bodies’ joining, as did the low, gasping groan that escaped Elrohir. They began to move in counterpoint against each other, feral sounds spilling from their lips. The Elf-knight’s hand vanished beneath the surface of the water again. The renewed underwater assault drove the prince wild. 

Legolas was riotously torn between the need to press down onto Elrohir’s impaling length and the urge to buck into his stroking hand. Convulsively gripping the sides of the bath, he half-laughed, half-sobbed helplessly as the Elf-knight intensified his ministrations. 

The widow had to clap a hand hard over her mouth to prevent a sob from escaping her lips. Grief threatened to overtake her. Yet she could not move or tear her eyes away from the two Elves. 

Elrohir skillfully brought his mate to the very brink of fulfillment. The prince had thrown his head back, his hair spilling about the twin’s shoulder like molten gold. When he knew Legolas was at the end of his endurance, Elrohir wickedly sucked the sensitive flesh where the archer’s neck met his shoulder. Legolas shuddered violently with sudden release, pushed down brutally on the source of his rapture, the warrior’s name emitting hoarsely from his lips. That in turn pushed Elrohir over the edge. He drove up hard into the prince as his own culmination overtook him. 

It took a few moments before either Elf could form coherent thought. Finally, Legolas raised himself off Elrohir and sat by his side. With a sated sigh, he laid his fair head upon the twin’s chest. Lazily, Elrohir reached up to stroke the silky locks.

After a few quiet moments, the Elf-knight slipped a finger beneath the prince’s chin and lifted it gently. He smiled as his Greenleaf raised his eyes to meet his. The smile that answered him beckoned. He lightly suckled at the prince’s lips, educing a tender kiss in return.

That more than their earlier coupling reduced Gilwen to despair. She could pretend that their intimacy stemmed from mere lust. After all, Elves were known to be the most passionate race in Middle-earth. But their shared smiles, their gentle kiss, spoke of something much deeper than mere physical desire. Trust. Devotion. Love. 

They were murmuring to each other. Gilwen strained to hear what they were saying. Though she was not that fluent in Sindarin she did know enough to understand some words now that it was quiet and she could hear them clearly. 

“ _Melin chen, Calenlass nîn._ ” I love you, my Greenleaf.

“ _A im le, Aduial._ ” And I, you, Twilight. 

She backed away, her heart breaking into a thousand pieces. It was not fair! She had waited so long for the chance to claim Elrohir. Why had the fates seen fit to give him to the Elven prince instead? Shaking with agony and slowly dawning fury, her first impulse was to get back at the fair archer by letting all Gondor know of his relationship with the Elf-knight. It would effectively make it difficult if not downright impossible for Legolas to return to Minas Tirith; indeed it might even force him to leave Gondor completely and return to his northern realm. 

But mounting reason also made her realize that such an outcome would only cause her further pain. For Elrohir would surely choose to stand by his lover even if it meant forsaking Gondor. She would lose the dubious comfort of seeing the Elf-lord even from afar. 

Confused, caught between anger and despair, she slipped out the way she had come and fled to the perfidious sanctuary of her lonely room.

oOoOoOo

Legolas slowly opened his eyes and blinked sleepily at the faint morning sunlight that streamed through the window. He stretched with cat-like languidness and made to rise to a sitting position. An arm curled around his waist and pulled him back down against the naked warmth of the body behind him.

“Do not leave me yet,” came the low, huskily spoken request.

The prince smiled and lazily turned over to gaze at his still drowsy Elf-knight.

“I was not,” he murmured. “What made you think I was going to?”

Elrohir shrugged. “Well, you always ensure that we never stay together past dawn while in the City,” he said softly.

“You know why.”

“Mm, aye.” Elrohir frowned. “I long for the day when we can come to Minas Tirith and lie abed together till late without worrying about being seen by the wrong people.”

To his delight and bemusement, Legolas promptly burrowed into his embrace, tucking his flaxen head into the crook of his neck. 

“Why not now?” Legolas grinned at the darkling Elf’s surprise. “After last night’s festivities, I doubt anyone will be lucid enough to notice me sneaking back to my room.”

Elrohir mock-scowled. “And here I thought ‘twas my inimitable charm that had persuaded you to stay.”

“But your inimitable charm is the reason I am here in the first place,” Legolas pointed out. He raised his head and smiled rakishly at his spouse. “‘Tis the reason I ended up between the sheets with you long before ‘twas proper,” he teased. 

Elrohir had to grin at that. “A golden prince with a golden tongue,” he chuckled. Then he sobered and murmured, “Whatever did I do to win you, Legolas?”

Fine eyebrows rose in unison. “After all these years, do you still ask that?” the archer queried curiously.

“Of course,” Elrohir replied, his eyes growing tender. “I never cease to ask myself how I was fortunate enough to attain a treasure such as you.” He reached up and stroked the prince’s sculpted jaw. “I never want to forget how blessed I am to have gained your love.”

Legolas swallowed hard, moved by his mate’s utterance. “And after all these years, you still fill me with awe at the depth of yours,” he whispered. “And make me wonder what I did to deserve it.”

He kissed the Elf-knight deeply and lingeringly, urgently pressing his body against Elrohir’s tall frame, then moving atop him and nudging the long legs apart that he might rest between them. The kiss grew more heated and intimate until they were gasping needfully against each other’s mouths.

“We may end up lying abed till noon if we do not stop now,” Elrohir warned in between kisses though he did not sound particularly concerned.

“I do not care,” Legolas thickly replied before engaging him in another passionate caress.

Inflamed by the archer’s uncharacteristic lack of caution, Elrohir rolled them over and proceeded to put the morning to good and most satisfying use.

When Legolas finally emerged from the Elf-warrior’s chamber it was just a few minutes short of the lunch hour. He slipped out, quiet as a wraith, and returned unseen to his own room. Thirty minutes later, he met up with Elrohir in the dining hall. As was their custom, they took the midday meal in the main dining hall of the White Tower instead of joining the King and Queen in the private alcove in the residential pavilion where they had most of their meals. This practice served to blunt any talk that Legolas was too much in the bosom of the royal family.

So well did they conceal their true feelings that no one was the wiser that they’d spent the entire night and morning in each other’s arms. No one that is save one who now bitterly regretted the knowledge. 

Gilwen watched them from under heavy, reddened lids. She knew with fresh awareness that behind the friendly banter and seemingly innocent gestures and touches lay passion and devotion the likes of which she had never experienced in all her life.

What she would give to know but a fragment of such bliss even for one brief moment in time. She did not yet realize the lengths to which she would go to achieve such a dream or the depths she would descend to fulfill it.

*********************************  
Glossary:  
Nórui - Sindarin for June

_To be continued…_


	5. IV. End of an Era

Minas Tirith, _Gwaeron_ F.A. 120  
Legolas stood before the window looking out to the west, his eyes bright with unshed tears. Today they had laid to rest Gondor’s latest king, perhaps her greatest. And a new one now ruled in his place.

_The lives of Men are but seasons to the Firstborn._

The summons had come to them in the early hours of two days ago. They had ridden swiftly to Minas Tirith, he and Elrohir and Elladan and a visiting Gimli. Aragorn had only awaited their arrival before proceeding to the Hallows where he had lain himself down upon the bed prepared for him. 

Legolas had been shocked by his appearance, unused as he was to the swift waning of the Dúnedain at the end of their lives. Faramir had not reached the true culmination of his life when he died and he and Elrohir had been in Imladris when Imrahil passed away. Therefore, unlike the brethren, he had no previous experience of this sudden passage from young to aged.

Aragorn had not been wizened or bent as lesser men were, though in recent years, streaks of grey had appeared in his black hair, as had faint lines in his noble face. Now his hair was silvered and the lines had deepened. He still looked strong and majestic and his comeliness had not been diminished in any way; merely altered. But so long had been his life and lengthy the years of his youthful appearance that the Elf-prince found it difficult to believe that he had indeed left youth behind and would eventually leave life as well.

They each had spoken with him at the last. To his daughters he had given his final blessings, to Eldarion his last words of love, his counsel and his crown. Words had not passed between him and Gimli; only a heartfelt grip of their hands. And then it had been Legolas’s turn.

He had long thought he would not be able to endure this day. Yet now that it was here, he found that he could. He looked upon his old friend and king with sadness and some confusion. Aragorn understood his mixed feelings.

“I will miss you terribly, Aragorn,” Legolas whispered. “After all we went through together... Gondor will not be the same without you. I cannot—” He faltered then, tears stinging his eyes, and found his hand caught in a surprisingly strong grip. 

“For so long as you have your Elf-knight’s love, you will endure anything, Legolas,” he gently told him. “He is your strength and the font of your forbearance.”

“Aye, he is,” Legolas murmured, glancing in Elrohir’s direction. 

“Take good care of him, Prince of Greenwood,” Aragorn said. “He is the greatest treasure you will ever have the good fortune to possess.” Legolas was startled by the sudden twinkle in the dimmed eyes. “And had I been an Elf, I might very well have competed with you for his affections.”

Legolas could not help chuckling at that. He smiled gratefully at the erstwhile Ranger who had ruled Gondor wisely and lovingly for one hundred and twenty years.

“Farewell, _meldiren_ ”—my friend—he murmured before giving way to Elladan and Elrohir.

With Gimli at his side, he had watched from a respectful distance as they bid their Estel goodbye, unashamed of the tears that streaked down their cheeks. At the last, each had grasped the king’s hands and raised them to their lips. And then Elrohir had gazed into Aragorn’s eyes and his own had widened. He glanced at his brother and then at Arwen uncertainly. But when neither protested whatever it was that had passed between them in that exchange of gazes, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his foster-brother’s lips.

Legolas had been surprised by that. But he had also immediately comprehended the significance of the gesture. In Aragorn, the duality of his elven forebears had existed but had never been allowed full expression. That had not been his destiny and his Elven family had taken pains to direct him down the road for which he had been fated even before his birth. This final show of affection was but an acknowledgement of what might have been had his destiny been otherwise. 

With the brethren’s farewells done, they had left the King and Queen alone together. What was spoken between them, Legolas did not know though he supposed Arwen would confide her husband’s last words to her brothers. They were together now in Aragorn’s study, the twins consoling their sister in her bereavement. 

He had retreated to his bedchamber to await Elrohir. He thought back on the past three decades. The last of Aragorn’s long and eventful reign.

The most far-reaching aspect of Aragorn’s legacy would be the peace he had attained for his kingdom. He had finally succeeded in forging treaties with the majority of the men of Rhûn, thus reducing to negligible the conflicts Gondor had with the Easterlings. The orcs of the south had been all but eradicated while the goblins that had infested the mountains of the north had been so diminished that their numbers were no longer much of a threat. And the alliance with Harad had been strengthened further by the marriage of his daughter, Anóriel, to her Southron prince.

Another achievement had been the restoration of Osgiliath. Now fully rebuilt, the city that straddled the Anduin was still sparsely populated. But it was coming alive again and more swiftly as the years passed. Already, its central district was bustling with commerce and many nobles had begun to reside once more within its walls. The next generation of Men would reap the full benefits of Elessar’s bountiful efforts.

The final fifteen years of his rule had been marked by utter quiet and contentment. It was a prosperous realm he had bequeathed to his only son. Legolas knew that Eldarion would continue in his father’s footsteps. He prayed that so would his sons and sons’ sons after him.

He heard the door open and footsteps approach him from behind. Strong, slender arms encircled his shoulders and a kiss was pressed against the side of his neck.

Elrohir sighed heavily. “Estel is hardly cold in his tomb yet we must plan Eldarion’s coronation. And we must do it soon that my sister may witness it before she departs from Gondor.”

Legolas frowned. “Arwen is leaving?”

Elrohir nodded somberly. “Her grief is too great. She cannot bear to remain here with all the memories of Estel. She leaves as soon as Eldarion is crowned king.”

“Where will she go?”

“Lothlórien.” Elrohir sighed. “Elladan and I will accompany her up to its borders. She refuses to let us go any further and will not even accept our offer to remain with her until her passing. Ah, _Adar_ was right. This is proving harder for Arwen than she ever expected.”

“But who will be with her when her time comes?” Legolas murmured. “The Evenstar should not be alone when she passes away.”

“‘Tis her choice,” Elrohir said simply yet in his words lay all his sorrow for the eventual loss of his only sister. 

Legolas turned in Elrohir’s arms and faced the grieving Elf. “It may sound unfeeling of me to say this now but I am grateful you chose to be of Elf-kind,” he whispered. “I do not know what I would do if we had to part.”

Elrohir smiled through his tears. “I once thought that an eternity in Aman would be much too tame for me to bear,” he said. “But now I look forward to that eternity with you, _seron vell_.”—beloved. He grinned crookedly at Legolas. “Think you Master Gimli will agree to join us?” 

“He will say nay,” Legolas replied. “But I believe I can persuade him.” 

“How so?”

“With an enticement. There is a certain lady whom he will not be able to resist seeing again.”

Elrohir squinted at him curiously. “And which lady is this?” he asked.

“The Lady of the Golden Wood herself.”

Elrohir gasped. “Grandmother?” He was torn between shock and hilarity. 

“Aye,” Legolas grinned. “He verily treasures the three strands of hair she gifted him with though he knows not the significance of it.” 

Elrohir shook his head, amazed. He looked at Legolas and suddenly smiled. He drew the prince into his arms for a crushing embrace. 

Legolas gasped then laughed and embraced him back. “What is this for?”

“I am only so grateful for you, my golden prince,” Elrohir whispered.

oOoOoOo

The initial days after Elessar’s passing were subdued to say the least. While all went about their appointed tasks dutifully, there was little cheer or enthusiasm. Even Eldarion remained sorrowful and less than eager to take up the reins of his rule. He had loved his father deeply.

But his coronation came to pass soon enough. It was held on the Pelennor before the gates of the City. Eldarion had decreed that he would be crowned not in the High City but on the sprawling plain before Minas Tirith, witnessed by all the people he would rule. Here the mantle of leadership was formally turned over to Aragorn’s son and here an era officially ended even as another began.

Legolas watched the proceedings with mingled sadness and rejoicing. Behind him were Nimeithel, the twins, Elendir and Elros, and Lindir. At his side were Elrohir and Elladan. Flanking them were several Elven warriors led by Daurin. All the Elves were clad in white and silver and on the brows of those who were of noble blood were the silver or _mithril_ coronets of their stations. They were a vision to behold, beautiful beyond belief.

People stared at them, committing to memory the fair faces, the tall slender forms and the exquisitely rendered raiment. This would be the last time an event of note in Gondor would be adorned by such ethereal charm and otherworldly beauty. After this day, the Firstborn would no longer walk the streets of the City or grace its halls. 

Legolas could sense that Elrohir was striving to control the storm of emotions that threatened to express itself in tears. The archer could only imagine what the Elf-knight was feeling. He had buried the brother he’d had a hand in raising from near infancy, the most beloved of all the fosterlings the Peredhil had taken under their protection. Now he was witnessing yet another beloved child turned warrior prince become king. At least, he would be spared the burden of laying Eldarion to rest as well. 

Surreptitiously, he took Elrohir’s hand and squeezed it consolingly. Gleaming argent eyes met his gratefully for an instant before Elrohir was summoned along with Elladan for their part in the ceremony. Legolas felt his own eyes blur as Elladan handed unto Eldarion the scepter of Annúminas and Anduril, the reforged sword of the king’s forefather, Elendil, while to Elrohir fell the honor of placing the winged crown of Gondor upon his nephew’s head. He glanced at Arwen who stood opposite him. She was succored by Ilien, her law-daughter, the new Queen of Gondor. 

Arwen had altered startlingly since Aragorn drew his last breath. Though still possessed of the breathtaking beauty of memory, it was no longer a warm, vibrant loveliness but cold and remote. It was almost as if she was no longer a part of the world but merely an image of what once was. Grief had swiftly taken its toll on her. Legolas sensed she would not long out-live her husband. 

It was then, as he was scanning the faces of the ladies of the court around Arwen and Ilien, that Legolas saw her. Lady Gilwen was looking directly at him, her eyes gleaming oddly. Legolas wondered at her expression with unease.

The Queen’s cousin had become one of her ladies-in-waiting a few years after her husband’s death. It had been a move encouraged by her kinfolk. A move designed hopefully to curtail the rumors of infidelity that had tainted her name during her marriage and followed her into her widowhood. It was known in Dol Amroth that she had not been a chaste wife, particularly when her lord began to age ahead of her. And after his death, rather than marrying again, it was said that she had taken lovers instead. 

Such behavior was frowned upon by the ruling family of the seaward princedom. Its members were staunch believers of the inviolability of the vows of matrimony. Open promiscuity by unwed persons was considered undesirable as well. If one had to indulge one’s self, one ought to conduct one’s self with discretion and dignity and spare others the discomfort of witnessing such wantonness. 

A lady-in-waiting had to follow certain rules of deportment and that included chaste behavior. And so, the widow had been duly taken in by her cousin in the hopes of correcting her errors. But that had meant her constant presence at court and that had not been to Elrohir’s liking at all. 

He harbored no sense of guilt where she was concerned. But neither did he enjoy being ogled with such futile longing as she exhibited even in the presence of others. It was irritating to say the least considering that he had made it absolutely clear to her that he had no interest in her or her company. To get around the problem, the warrior had lessened his visits to Minas Tirith and oft persuaded Aragorn and Arwen and their family to come to Ithilien instead. But he never told them the reason behind this recent preference. He had not wished to have it known that he may very well have been the first in the string of extra-marital lovers she had had through the years. 

She continued to stare at Legolas with that odd look in her dark eyes. When Elrohir came back to his side, she regarded the twin in that familiar yearning manner then turned her attention to Legolas once more. And then she dropped her gaze to his hand. The hand that had instinctively reached out to clasp the Elf-knight’s briefly in support and affection. It struck Legolas then.

'She knows about us,' he thought with shock. 'Yet she has never betrayed our secret. Why?'

************************************  
Glossary:  
Gwaeron – Sindarin for March  
Adar – Father

_To be continued…_


	6. V. Farewell to the City of the Kings

Well into the feasting at Merethrond that evening, Legolas continued to wonder about Gilwen and her motives. It was not that he feared exposure at this late date. It would affect him little now that his and Elrohir’s time of abiding in Middle-earth was all but done. But he could not help being curious as to why she had not revealed them when it may have benefited her to do so. 

He was just returning to the other Elves’ company after a brief discussion with Boromir when she suddenly accosted him. He looked at her warily. Her eyes were glittering with girlish elation. An incongruous sight in her mature countenance. The signs of her long years had finally begun to show themselves in the stray strands of grey in her dark hair and the slight wrinkles in her once smooth brow and around her mouth. 

“Prince Legolas, I beg a moment of your time if you please,” she said.

Legolas acceded courteously. “Of course, my lady,” he replied.

“Am I to understand that you are not accompanying Queen Arwen to Lothlórien tomorrow?” she asked.

Legolas shook his head. “I am returning to Ithilien. Only her brothers and a small company of warriors are escorting her thence.”

“And a group of her ladies,” Gilwen added.

Legolas was somewhat taken aback. “I was not aware of that,” he admitted.

“My cousin did not deem it proper for Queen Arwen to travel unattended by any save men-at-arms. She insisted that a few women go with her.” Gilwen paused. “I am to be part of Queen Arwen’s retinue.”

A chill ran up Legolas’s spine. Gilwen? To travel with Arwen to Lórien? To be in close proximity to Elrohir for the length of the journey to and fro? He looked hard at the widow, suspicion flaring with every passing second.

“Why have you approached me, _hîril_?”—lady—he asked tersely.

“I know of your relationship with the Lord Elrohir,” she said.

“Aye, you made that quite clear this morning.”

“Doubtless you were surprised that I never exposed you.”

“I will not deny that.”

Gilwen smiled faintly. “My reasons were not altogether altruistic,” she honestly said. “If I held my tongue, ‘twas because I had no desire for him to withdraw completely from Gondor.” She locked gazes with the Elf-prince. “I feel about him as you do. I cannot conceive of life without him.”

Legolas’s mouth tightened. “Yet you will have to live your life thusly for his time in Middle-earth is at an end,” he pointed out coolly.

“I am very aware of that, my prince,” Gilwen said. “And ‘tis for that reason I have come to you. Eternity in his company is within your grasp. It is not within mine. I had hoped you would find it in your heart to have pity on me and leave me with enough memories to sustain me in my remaining days.”

Legolas stared at her, appalled at what he suspected she was asking of him. “What is it you desire of me?” he demanded.

“That you permit him to keep me company for the length of the sojourn to and from Lórien,” she calmly answered. 

There was no mistaking what she meant. Legolas felt a slow rage burn its way through his very being. But he stifled it and only said quite coldly: “You are bold to ask this of me.”

“You are displeased,” she said. “I cannot blame you. Yet all I request is a brief moment of your eternity together. Surely that is of small consequence to you.”

“In that you are wrong,” Legolas said stiffly. “Elves do not take their vows of fidelity lightly.”

It was Gilwen’s turn to stare. “Vows?” she repeated with consternation. “You are— you are—”

“Bound,” Legolas all but snapped. “He is my binding-mate, my eternal spouse. I am sorry, _hîril_ , but I cannot accommodate your request.”

Gilwen shuddered in shock. It was blatantly apparent that she had not considered the possibility of an espousal between them. It seemed to shake her to the core. It was also obvious that she was cognizant of the inviolability of elven bindings. Else she would not have suggested so outrageous an arrangement, Legolas thought.

But he was soon disabused of that last idea. She suddenly clutched at his hand and said beseechingly: “Have pity on me! One last memory is all I ask. Please, will you not grant it?” 

Legolas pried his hand from her grasp and stepped back. He said icily: “We are bound by the laws of our people and in the eyes of the Powers themselves. We are joined not only in our bodies and hearts but in our spirits as well. Even did he wish to grant what you would ask of him, I would not allow it. I will not yield him to you or any other. He is mine and mine alone.”

The widow gasped at the glacial finality of his declaration. Shaking, she spun around to leave. At the last moment, she looked at Legolas again. What he saw in her eyes filled him with cold apprehension.

It was not hate he had glimpsed or loathing. He had seen both in the eyes of others and faced them down with creditable equanimity. No, what he had seen in the depths of her anguished eyes was, to his mind, far more troubling.

He had seen her desperation. Stark, unrelenting desperation.

oOoOoOo

The feeling of unease did not abate as the evening progressed. So disturbed was he that he requested Elrohir to take his leave of the festivities earlier than usual. To his relief, the warrior acquiesced soonest and they both headed back to their bedchambers with the understanding that this night Legolas would go to the Elf-knight’s apartments. Which he did with alacrity.

Elrohir came out of his bathing chamber to find the Elf-prince already reclining in his bed, under the covers, his clothing tossed hastily over a chair. Shaking his head with a grin, he shrugged off his robe and slid in beside the archer. He regarded his mate’s shining beauty a moment before leaning down to brush his lips against the other’s mouth. He noted the tremor that passed though Legolas’s sleek form. 

Moving lower, Elrohir pressed a kiss to the hollow of the archer’s throat then moved his lips up the white column of his neck. Legolas shuddered from the sensation. Of a sudden, he felt a great need to be loved and possessed as he had never done before.

“ _Melethron_ , take me now,” he pleaded. “Love me as you did the first time you claimed me.”

Elrohir heard the fear in his voice and looked at him in surprise and concern. “What is wrong, Calenlass?” he asked.

“I do not know,” Legolas whispered. “Please, just do as I ask. Love me now.”

He did not give Elrohir time to come up with any response but drew the Elf-rider down into a bruising kiss that drove all coherent thought from the twin’s mind. The prince’s heated thoughts stoked the twin’s mind to even greater desire. 

_Have me, Twilight. Fill me, ride me, make me cry out your name in joy._

Elrohir sensed his desperation but decided not to question it then. There was time enough for that later. He did as Legolas asked of him and loved his Greenleaf as he had on the night of their first coupling. With all the slow burning tenderness of Legolas’s first yielding to him and all the fierce ardor of his own first taking of his golden prince. It was no difficult matter for him; not when Legolas’s wanton yearning heightened his own lust and deepened his need to be one with his spouse. 

He moved down the archer’s lean frame, employing hands and mouth and tongue in a maddening, sensual exploration that left Legolas almost painfully needful. He marked the ivory flesh of the prince’s throat, making him groan with every gentle bite; wickedly nipped at the roseate nipples until they ached deliciously. So inflamed was Legolas that by the time Elrohir engulfed his shaft in the moist warmth of his mouth, he bucked up wildly. And when he felt the warrior’s fingers slide into him even as he was skillfully suckled, he finally surrendered to his pleasure and cried out. 

He no longer cared if anyone heard them. This would be their last night in Minas Tirith. Tomorrow, they would depart from the Guarded City for good and wait out Arwen’s passing in Ithilien, in the deeps of the woods of Eryn Gael. Rumor would no longer harm them even should it last a hundred or a thousand years. 

He struggled to forget Gilwen’s words and the frightening look in her eyes. Fought to set aside the odd foreboding that had come in the wake of his encounter with the widow.

Elrohir sensed his need to lose control. To be controlled. Foregoing a more leisure pace, he took the prince swiftly and deeply. Burying himself in the silken warmth of the prince’s body, he grasped Legolas’s wrists and pinned them to the headboard. And then he rode him hard, pounding into him with more force than wonted. It drove Legolas near insane with sensation and emotion. Rapture spiralled and expanded and flowed between them as they approached the summit of their loving. 

Glimpsing the last vestige of control in his mate’s glistening eyes, the warrior, without releasing the prince’s hands, reached down between them and, with a few, firm strokes of the pale slick shaft, wrenched that last vestige from him. Legolas came totally undone. Filled, ridden, taken, he all but keened the Elf-knight’s name as they both reached completion, his utter bliss more than abundantly evident in the gasping sobs that shook his slender body.

Tears wet his cheeks as he was gathered into his spouse’s balming embrace. He held on tightly, grateful for the unconditional loving of his Twilight. Only when he had calmed down somewhat did Elrohir seek to uncover the source of his earlier unease.

He told him then about his conversation with Gilwen. Of the strange look in the woman’s eyes and the foreboding that had come over him. Elrohir did not scoff at his fears. He had long ago noticed the difference in the way they perceived what was to come. 

He and Elladan could glimpse the distant future; had visions of events that might yet take years to occur and persons still to be born many generations down the line. But Legolas’ foresight was more elemental; closer to home one might say. He sensed events that were just around the corner. And they seldom failed to materialize. 

He sought to allay his beloved’s anxieties. “Do you wish for me to ask Eldarion to take her out of Arwen’s retinue?” he softly said.

Legolas shook his head. “She would fight such a move and reveal to all what passed between you,” he replied. “I would not have her expose your part in the beginnings of her faithlessness.” He quickly kissed Elrohir when the latter winced at the reminder of that thoughtless night. “I do not desire that your last moments with Eldarion be marred by scandal and rancor.” He hesitated then sighed. “But I admit I am worried about what she may do during your journey.”

“Surely you do not fear that I would lie with her again,” Elrohir whispered. “I am yours alone, _melethen_.”—my love.

“I know,” Legolas murmured. “I do not fear any weakness on your part at all. Yet I am afraid, Elrohir, of what I cannot say.” He pressed his face against the warrior’s chest, took comfort in the arms that snugly enclosed him. “She is so desperate. The look in her eyes... I have seen it before in others and it always boded ill. She is capable of anything. I can feel it.” 

“Capable of what?” Elrohir gently pointed out. “Trying to seduce me? In that she will fail, Calenlass, I can assure you of that. I would sooner pass from this world than betray you.”

“Hush! Do not say that!” Fear limned the archer’s voice anew.

Elrohir sighed and held him even tighter. “Forgive me for distressing you further,” he said quietly. “I only want you to always remember that there is none in all creation that I desire but you. Only you, Legolas, no one else.”

Legolas gazed at him raptly. And then he smiled and the love behind his smile lit up his face so brightly that Elrohir half gasped. He noticed the musing gleam in the archer’s eyes.

“What are you thinking of?” he murmured.

Legolas whispered: “You made me cry out your name in joy.” He lay back and drew the Elf-knight flush against him. “Have me again, Aduial. Love me through this night.”

oOoOoOo

The early morning light was but a faint glimmer when Legolas awoke the following day. He drew in a sharp breath as he felt the ravages of the night’s couplings. But then he smiled, welcoming the twinges that were evidence of his spouse’s peerless loving.

He looked at Elrohir asleep beside him, sable locks spilling across the pillow, twilight eyes closed in the depths of slumber, sinuous lips slightly parted. His desire flared up anew, this time joined with the undeniable need to possess and prove his ownership of the darkling Elf. He bent down and kissed the warrior, slipping his tongue between his lips, invading the twin’s mouth, waking the other with his heat and passion. 

And then he took his Elf-knight as fiercely as the latter had taken him the night before; burrowing into him with hard, driving thrusts that had Elrohir gasping in shocked rapture. There was a rapaciousness to the archer’s demeanor he’d seldom known in all their years as lovers. Not that he protested such treatment; not when it stoked his passion to heights he’d rarely scaled save with his golden prince.

Not when it provided them both with the means by which to endure their parting-to-be however brief. For sooner than Legolas liked, they found themselves before the gate of the Citadel, preparing to go their separate ways, Legolas heading east for Ithilien with Nimeithel, Gimli, Lindir and the warrior Elves while Elrohir and Elladan would go north with the escort of their sister, Arwen. In that riding also were Elladan’s sons, Elendir and Elros. It would be their final service to their father’s only sister; a last gesture of love and respect for their mortal aunt. 

Legolas frowned when he spotted Gilwen amongst the ladies-in-waiting in Arwen’s retinue. His fears had been temporarily lulled by his repeated couplings with Elrohir. Now a shadow of them rose once more. He could only silently entreat the Powers to keep his beloved Elf-knight out of harm’s way.

The farewells to Eldarion were heartwrenching. The brethren had long decided that Aragorn’s passing would mark the end of their sojourns to the City of the Kings. It would be best for everyone to let go of the past including Eldarion. Elladan and Elrohir had taught their nephew all that they could possibly impart to him; all that he would probably need to know. As Aragorn had learned to rule without the benefit of Mithrandir’s counsel all those years ago, so now would Eldarion find his way without his Elf-uncles’ guidance.

Legolas glanced at Arwen who was shrouded in somber grey and black. She did not weep; did not show any outward signs of sorrow at this final leave-taking of family and home. He knew then that she was already preparing to follow Aragorn. Thus her choice to return to the place where they had first plighted their troth. In Lórien, she would feel closest to her departed husband whom she would join before very long.

When they finally moved to mount their steeds, his apprehension nagged more fiercely than ever at Legolas. On impulse, he went to Elrohir and drew him into a tight embrace, uncaring of who saw them. What did it matter? They had said their last farewells to Minas Tirith. People would eventually forget what they had seen. And even if they did not, he and Elrohir would soon be beyond their reach.

“Legolas, I will be back soon,” Elrohir murmured, stroking the golden hair comfortingly.

“I will be waiting,” the archer replied softly. For the first and only time, he kissed the Elf-warrior in full sight of everybody. 

Elrohir was smiling when he drew away. He caught Eldarion’s eyes and his smile broadened when he saw his nephew’s astonishment and delight. 

“You have given everyone something to talk about for the next decade or so,” he grinned, taking note of the wide eyes and gaping mouths of those around them. He had never cared to conceal their love before and was pleased to finally have it out in the open. 

“Let them talk,” Legolas smiled. “I would leave them something to remember us by.” 

Elrohir chuckled. “That you certainly have!” 

Behind Arwen, Lady Gilwen’s face was frozen with indefinable emotion but neither Elf paid her much heed. 

At last, they rode down the long main street to the lowest level of the City and passed through the great gate. There, they parted ways. Legolas held back, allowing the rest to ride ahead. He kept his eyes on Elrohir as the company moved steadily north. He waited.

Just as the company crested the first rise on the Pelennor, Elrohir looked back and raised his hand in farewell. Legolas did likewise. And then he urged his horse forward and followed the others on the road to Ithilien.

*****************************  
Glossary:  
melethron – lover

_To be continued..._


	7. VI. Transgression

_Lothron_ F.A. 121  
The journey back was dolorous for the most part even for the stern warriors of Gondor. They had left behind their beloved queen, there at the borders of the once-enchanted woods of Lothlórien. They knew they had seen their last of her.

For the brethren Elladan and Elrohir, it had proven even more grievous. The Golden Wood of yore was no more. There was no sign of the light and song that had once lit its very core. That Arwen would live out her last days in the sad and silent former heart of Elvendom in Middle-earth weighed heavily on them.

They had known Lórien in its noontide, lived many a happy day amongst the fierce yet merry Galadhrim. But now, as with Imladris, this other part of their childhood and youth was but a myth to mortals of this day and age. 

They had lingered only long enough to ascertain that she would be safe and cared for. Not all the Galadhrim had forsaken their home. A stubborn, hardy few had remained and they welcomed their former lord’s granddaughter with much love and respect. 

At least, her brothers could find comfort in the knowledge that she would not be utterly alone when the end came. That loving hands would lay her to rest and tend her grave. And that word of her passing would be duly sent to them. But even this knowledge could not still the sorrow of loss and longing in their hearts. 

It was simply too much to bear. It was time to join their kindred in Aman. In Elvenhome.

In company with a party of mortals and a party that included women at that, they had been compelled to set up camp nightly to allow the others rest. That did not change on the pensive trip home. While the ladies were accorded the one large tent, the men-at-arms and the Elves slept beneath the stars. And as always, Elladan and his sons stayed close to Elrohir.

The Elf-knight had told them of Legolas’s forebodings. Just as he had not scorned those apprehensions, neither did they. And they thus took measures to prevent anything unseemly from happening.

None of them believed Gilwen would attempt anything so brazen as to try and seduce the warrior in full sight of everyone else. And so Elrohir had simply remained in the bosom of his family at all times, making it impossible for Gilwen to even approach him. And his brother and nephews surrounded him at night that she could not get to him without rousing the others first.

It was not that they feared that Elrohir would succumb to temptation. That was an impossibility. But none of them wished for a scene to occur now of all times. They did not desire for tales of indecent instances to reach Eldarion and mar his happy memories of them. And so they took care to keep their distance from her at all times.

It was with relief that the company finally crossed into Anórien. Minas Tirith was but days away and they would soon reach their homes. They encamped with higher spirits that very night.

Elladan thoughtfully regarded his twin as the latter sat back against a tree staring up at the stars above. Elrohir seldom fared well when he was apart from Legolas. And Legolas was oft beset with a burdened heart as well when he was without his darkling mate. It was telling evidence of the strength of their bond, one the older twin could not recall seeing the likes of in all his years.

He and Nimeithel shared an intensely intimate connection and they, too, were not happy to be parted for long. It was the same for every happily bound couple he personally knew of—his own parents as well as Legolas’s sire and dam, Celeborn and Galadriel, Glorfindel and Erestor, Iörwen and Ailios, Daurin and Enedrion. All possessed that intangible yet potent link that marked the relationships of wedded Elves.

But the connection between his brother and his woodland spouse was special. It was so intense, so vibrant, that Elves could readily sense it without trying. One look was all it took for any and all _Edhil_ , even babes and younglings, to tell that they were indeed binding-mates.

He’d oft wondered if this had occurred because of the one-sided binding to Legolas his brother had undertaken ere he won the archer’s love. Could that sacrifice have enabled the forging of a deeper connection between them than had ever happened before amongst Elf-kind?

His brother’s sacrifice.

It struck Elladan then that only once before had he sensed this same intense bond. It had been between Arwen and Aragorn in that time between the plighting of their troth upon Cerin Amroth and Arwen’s formal declaration of her choice to be of mortal-kind. It was only then, when Arwen had been shorn of her eternal flame, that he had ceased to feel that wondrous connection between them. Because she was no longer of Elf-kind.

‘Could that be the key?’ Elladan mused. ‘A great sacrifice in the name of love?’ And Elrohir had made not one but two if one considered it. The first had been to choose immortality not for his sake but for Legolas’s. Because the prince had begged it of him. The other had been to bind himself in love without certitude of it ever being returned.

'Mayhap ‘tis a blessing one receives in return for one’s willingness to endure come what may for love of another,' Elladan thought. He rose from his pallet and joined his brother under the tree. His sons ceased their discussion and hearkened to their elders’ instead.

“You brood overmuch, _muindor_ ”—brother—Elladan reproved. “You will be back in his arms before long,” he added soothingly as his twin continued to gaze wistfully at the stars.

Elrohir glanced at him. “Is my yearning so apparent?”

“Always,” Elladan replied. “But now, even the men of Gondor know the reason for it.”

Elrohir grinned a little. All through their journey he had been aware of the surreptitious glances at him and the whispered exchanges regarding him and Legolas. They had grown so blatant that during the final leg of the trip to Lórien, Arwen had roused herself enough to chasten her people and give them a brief but thorough lecture on elven nature.

That had stilled their tongues but not their shock. If anything, it had increased and the warriors and ladies had grown even more curious about their Elven companions. One could almost hear their thoughts. What else were Elves capable of?

“Whatever possessed Legolas to be so open about the two of you?” Elladan remarked.

Elrohir sighed. “He only wished to balm his fears. No harm can come of it any longer, _gwaniuar_. We are leaving the company of mortals forever. And truth be told, it pleases me that he loves me well enough to set aside his reservations even at this last.”

Elladan chuckled. “Everything Legolas does pleases you.”

“Aye, in the same manner that Nimeithel can do no wrong in your eyes,” Elrohir retorted good-naturedly.

Elendir and Elros listened to their banter with wide grins. The younger twins had been doleful since parting from their aunt. Her loss had served as an acute reminder of what the choice of the Peredhil had once portended. They had both chosen to be immortal and would join their parents when they sailed forth from Middle-earth and thus had brought to an end that which had been both gift and bane to their family. But this event had recalled to them that there were those of their line who were forever lost to them and Elf-kind. Their foremother, Luthien. Their grandsire’s brother, Elros. And now, Arwen.

This light-hearted interlude was just the comfort they needed. 

Yet they remained ever aware and wary of the woman who could not keep her eyes off their uncle. Would that they could go off and leave the humans to make their way back to Minas Tirith on their own. But an implacable sense of duty held them to this path. None of their mortal companions save Gilwen had even been born during the War. They knew next to nothing of the little-travelled roads outside of Gondor. And the road to Lórien had been a secret one even at the height of the Golden Wood’s flowering.

oOoOoOo

The sight of the Tower of Ecthelion rising high above the Guarded City had never looked so beautiful to the Elves, their keen eyes espying it ever before the rest of the company. They urged the rest to hasten down the road until they came to the fork where they would finally take leave of their human companions. It was just the hour after sunset. The younger twins grinned as they noted their father and uncle’s preoccupied expressions. There was no doubt about what or who filled their thoughts.

But just as they made their formal farewells to the captain who had led the men-at-arms, he made an unexpected request. They had not seen it coming, not a one of them.

“My lords, the Lady Gilwen has informed me that she is not returning to Minas Tirith but proceeding to Osgiliath,” he said diffidently. “Would it be too much to ask that she be allowed to ride on with you?”

Elladan glanced at Elrohir in consternation then looked at Gilwen as his twin was now doing. But the widow only looked back at them impassively in the manner of one awaiting and ready to accept their decision.

This left them in a quandary. They had no good reason to turn down the request since to cross into Ithilien they would have to take one of the three bridges within Osgiliath that spanned Anduin. The only other bridge was several leagues further southeast of their present location. Well out of the way.

Gilwen quietly spoke up. “My house is close to the first bridge into Ithilien,” she said. “I will not take you out of your way.”

In the end, they had no choice. It would be blatantly discourteous to deny a lady their services. One did not leave a woman to travel by herself particularly in the deeps of the night. Concealing their reluctance as well as they could, they acceded to the request. Showing no other reaction beyond the normal relief of a female who would not be left to fend for herself, Gilwen joined them as they at last turned down the road to Osgiliath.

They were silent most of the way to the river-cloven city. Only Elendir made an effort to speak with her and that was out of politeness more than anything else.

“You have a home in Osgiliath, _hîrilen_?”—my lady—he inquired.

Gilwen said: “My mother’s family owned a house within ere the city fell into ruin. It has been restored since.”

Elendir nodded and said no more. 

It was well past the midnight hour when they entered the former capital of Gondor. It was silent and not a man or woman could be seen on the streets. Gilwen led them down a narrow cobbled road to the very walls of the city. As she had told them, they saw that the first bridge was but another street beyond hers. 

Her house was located in a still hardly occupied section of Osgiliath. Dark windows and boarded up doors bespoke vacant residences waiting to be filled once more. They could not help some curiosity as they rode into a tiny courtyard fronting a small two-level building. This was not a permanent residence they realized but merely a place where her family had stayed when in Gondor in days gone by. The courtyard reached to the wall itself, which at this point was no more than a low stone parapet that overlooked the swift-running waters of Anduin. One could hear the rushing river just beyond. 

Surprisingly, no servant came to greet his mistress and Gilwen herself lit the torches at the porch of the house and unlocked its door. Elladan frowned.

“Have you no servants to assist you?” he asked.

Gilwen shook her head as she opened the door. “We do not keep any when we are not in residence here. Do not worry. This house is small and I only plan to remain a short while.”

Elladan and Elrohir remained outside, leaving it the younger twins to help her bring her baggage in. They had no desire to linger but to be on their way soonest. 

To their surprise, when the three emerged from the house, Gilwen had a large tray in her hands. It bore a bottle of wine and four drinking cups. Before they could protest, she earnestly beseeched them to hear her out.

“‘Tis the custom in Dol Amroth to see travellers off with a farewell cup of wine,” she explained. “You will soon be travelling further than any in Middle-earth ever will. I would honor your departure with my land’s ancient tradition.”

Elladan glanced at his sons. Elros shook his head marginally, indicating that he and Elendir had inspected the cups and found them clean and that the bottle of wine was an unopened and untampered one. The older twin looked at his brother. With a sigh, Elrohir consented.

Gilwen laid the tray on a stone table on the porch and opened the bottle of wine. She filled the cups then began to hand them out herself. Elendir watched her keenly, wondering how anyone could become so obsessed with anyone or anything that she would invite scorn and suspicion from all and sundry.

He frowned when she handed a cup to Elrohir. Instead of holding it by its base, she placed her hand atop its rim and lifted it in that awkward manner before passing it to his uncle. He wondered that so well born a lady should be so graceless in such a common task. But then she did not do the same with Elladan’s cup but held it properly. As she did with Elros’s. Elendir’s frown deepened.

It was when she gave him his wine that he saw it. A thick gold band on the middle finger of her right hand. It was oddly turned over so that its stone faced down. She let go of his cup as he took it. His sharp elven eyes espied it then. The stone was set in a ring of delicately carved gold and the entire setting had been pushed aside revealing... a tiny chamber within the band itself.

At once, his mind made sense of her earlier lack of grace. That finger—the ring itself—had been directly over Elrohir’s cup! 

He cried out frantically: “Uncle! Do not drink the wine!”

Too late. Elrohir had already taken a deep draught of the sweet liquid. For a moment he stared in bewilderment at his distraught nephew. A second later, his eyes widened and he gasped and flung his cup aside. Elladan was by his side in an instant, alarmed by the sudden pallor of his face.

“ _Gwanneth!_ What ails you?” he exclaimed.

Elrohir gripped his supporting hand and stared at him with horror-filled eyes. “Mandrake—in my wine,” he rasped.

Elladan stared back at him, eyes as wide and fearful. He whirled about and glared at Gilwen in fury. 

“What have you done?” he snarled.

Gilwen backed away, found her way blocked by Elendir. “I did nothing!” she protested.

“She lies!” Elendir said. He grabbed her hand and revealed the treacherous ring. “She added the poison through this!” 

She snatched her hand away. “‘Tis not poison!” she objected. “The old lady said ‘tis but a few drops of a-a love potion!”

“You fool!” Elladan snapped. “Mandrake is indeed a potent aphrodisiac, but to bound Elves it is fatal!”

Gilwen gaped at him in shock. “Nay, it cannot be. She said—”

“You have killed my brother!”

“Father!

He spun around to see Elros catch Elrohir in his arms. The Elf-knight was clutching at his chest; his breathing had turned labored. Elladan swiftly helped his son support the warrior.

Gilwen sobbed in remorse and shame. “Forgive me,” she implored. “I did not know— did not mean to—”

Her reaching arm was angrily batted aside by Elros, the force of his buffet causing her to lose her balance. She fell to her knees before them.

Elrohir gripped Elladan’s hand hard. “ _Muindor_ , take me... to Legolas... before...”

Elladan, eyes beginning to blur with tears, nodded. Elendir quickly fetched his father’s steed. 

Gilwen, hearing the name of the Elven prince, seeing at last what she had refused to see before, felt an overwhelming wave of despair, guilt and grief wash over her. She did not merely break; she shattered.

Scrambling to her feet with a hoarse cry, she turned and ran to the low wall overlooking the river. Realizing her intent, Elendir raced after her, grabbing at her as she clambered up the wall. She managed to elude his hand, teetered a moment on the edge then cast herself into the dark waters below. Anduin swallowed her almost at once as her heavy skirts dragged her down into the river’s cold embrace. 

Elendir could only look on in dazed horror at this, his first witnessing of an act of self-destruction. 

“Elendir!” He started and glanced back to see that his father had mounted his steed and had pulled Elrohir up before him with Elros’s help. “Come, _iôn_ , we have no time to lose!”

The young Elf nodded, took one last shuddering look at the spot where Anduin had claimed Gilwen, then hurried to his own horse. Seconds later, the Elves fled into the night, their steeds galloping down the main street and across the wide bridge into the fairest province of Gondor.

*********************************************  
Glossary:  
Lothron - Sindarin for May  
Edhil – Elves  
gwaniuar – older twin  
gwanneth – younger twin  
iôn – son

_To be continued…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mandrake is a plant of the nightshade family. Its forked root was once believed to possess magical properties and was consequently used to create potions for reasons as disparate as relieving insomnia, curing a variety of bodily ailments, promoting fertility and, yes, inducing love in its capacity as an aphrodisiac.


	8. VII. Bond of the Spirit

Ithilien  
It was past midnight and still Legolas sat in the entrance hall of his house, studying the plans for the ship that would bear him and the twins over Sea when word of Arwen’s passing reached them. Shortly before Aragorn’s death, he and Elrohir had visited Edhellond in Dol Amroth and had been gifted with the plans by the shipwrights he had befriended during previous sojourns to the seaward realm. 

“Staying up will not bring him to you any faster,” Gimli testily informed him from the depths of the armchair in which he was ensconced.

Legolas grinned and glanced to where his sister lay on a couch, dozing as she, too, awaited her husband’s return. “They will be here soon,” he told his friend. “I would welcome them home.”

“How do you know—?” Gimli broke off and snorted. “You sense his closeness, I suppose.”

The archer nodded. “It is always thusly with all wedded Elves. But it seems particularly strong between Elrohir and myself. I—”

He suddenly stopped and uttered a shocked gasp. Gimli sat up straighter and stared at him in alarm. The prince had paled noticeably.

“Legolas! What is it?”

The archer staggered to his feet, cried out softly in fear and confusion. “Elrohir! Something is terribly wrong!” 

He spun around to find Nimeithel beside him. His sister had awakened at his cry and now sought to discover what ailed him. 

“What of Elrohir?” she questioned. “What do you feel?”

“He-he is in pain—” Legolas shook his head, trying to clear it. “He is burning— from within—” He broke off and shuddered. “I must go to him!”

He threw off Nimeithel’s arm and raced out of the house and toward the stables. He paid no heed to her pleas to await her and Gimli but flung himself on his horse and took off with nary a backward glance. Nimeithel swiftly mounted her own horse, pulled Gimli up behind her and followed her brother into the dark.

They rode steadily for hours through the herb-scented woods and glades and across the verdant plains of Ithilien, Legolas never slowing down but only urging his steed to hasten even further. The first light of the dawning day was breaking through the clouds when at last he espied a party of riders in the distance. Elven riders. 

He swept the group with his eyes and drew in a sharp breath. Tinnu, Elrohir’s grey warhorse, was riderless. Where was its master? Only then did he realize that not one but two twins rode Elladan’s midnight hued stallion. 

He was off his horse and running the rest of the short distance to his spouse. Moments later, Elrohir was being lowered into his outstretched arms. He hurriedly fell to his knees, gathering the Elf-knight close to him, pressing a kiss to his pallid lips. The utter whiteness of Elrohir’s countenance frightened him beyond bearing. The others hurriedly gathered around them.

“What ails him?” he demanded of Elladan as soon as the older twin knelt before him. “What happened?”

Elladan told him the tale as quickly as possible. Legolas nearly turned as white as Elrohir as he came to its end. 

“But–but surely there must be a remedy for this!” he insisted. “You are a healer, Elladan! There must be something you can do!”

“There is none!” Elladan shot back in frustration. “Else I would have administered it long afore this. There is nothing I can do!” 

He started as Elrohir tugged at his arm. He bent low over his twin. 

“Do not send word to Arwen or the King,” Elrohir gasped. “I will not darken our sister’s last days or further add to Eldarion’s losses.”

“As you wish,” Elladan said in a strangled voice, awed that his brother could still think of others when he was in such dire straits.

The younger twin now turned his attention to the archer. He saw how his blue eyes swam with dread and dawning sorrow. “Legolas, I am so sorry,” he said in a thready voice.

“Sorry?” Legolas repeated, bewildered. “By Elbereth’s name, what are you talking about?”

Elrohir swallowed with difficulty. “Had I not taken Gilwen that night, she would never have deluded herself into believing that she could have me.”

"'Tis not your fault, _muindor_ ,” Elladan protested. “She believed it because she wanted to. She was driven thus by her loneliness and desperation.”

Legolas drew his mate closer, stroking the pale cheeks with his warm hand, pressing his lips to the dark hair. “Do not leave me, Elrohir,” he pleaded desperately. “I cannot bear losing you.”

“I wish I could grant your wish, Calenlass,” Elrohir choked. “But this is beyond my ability to do so.”

“Nay, do not say that!” Legolas cried out protestingly. 

He felt his sister’s hand on his arm. “But surely he will be returned to us,” Nimeithel said, desperately seeking to comfort her distraught brother. “Are not Elves released from the Halls of Mandos after a time of waiting?”

Elladan nodded, his throat tight with grief. “Aye, _gwanur_ , take comfort from that.”

“But not all are allowed to leave the Halls of Awaiting,” Legolas said harshly. His voice broke on the last words.

“I _will_ come back to you,” Elrohir managed to say. His breath was now coming in irregular gasps. His skin was cold and ashen, his lips pale and pained with the effort to speak. “If I must go down on my knees before all the Valar and Eru himself and beg, I will do it. Trust me, _seron vell_.”—beloved.

“Aduial, you said you would never leave me!”

Elrohir nearly sobbed at the prince’s anguish. “We will not say farewell. We will be together again,” he rasped. He marked the beginnings of despair in the fair archer’s eyes. He tightened his failing grip on the other’s hand. “Promise me that you will not despair,” he demanded weakly. “Promise me, Legolas.”

The prince choked on his words. “I-I promise.”

“Sail West,” Elrohir murmured. “Wait for me…”

He glanced at Gimli. The Dwarf took his hand and leaned down to catch his nearly indiscernable words. “Take care of him for me, _mellon nîn_ ”—my friend—the twin pleaded. “Do not let him fade.”

Gimli had to clear his throat. Struggling against the uncharacteristic trembling of his gruff voice, he staunchly said, “I swear, I will stay by him. Be at peace, son of Elrond.”

Elrohir managed a weak smile of gratitude. He turned his eyes back to Legolas. His waning vision revealed the prince’s grief-ravaged features. But what he saw was his spouse’s incandescence; his wondrous shining beauty.

“You are still the closest thing to perfection I have ever known,” he falteringly whispered to the archer.

“Elrohir—!” 

With a final spurt of strength, Elrohir reached up to grasp the prince by the nape and pulled him down into a fierce kiss. Legolas poured all his love into the caress, willing some of his own life’s grace into the warrior’s fading body. But the pull of Mandos’s Halls would not be denied. As Elrohir’s lips stilled beneath his, Legolas felt his Elf-knight’s last thought brush his mind. _I love you, Calenlass nîn._

The prince drew away with a gasp. Realization struck him with brutal force. With a terrible cry he laid his head upon his mate’s now silent breast. He barely heard the sobs of Nimeithel and the twins or the raggedly whispered prayer by Elladan; scarcely felt Gimli’s convulsive grip on his shoulder.

oOoOoOo

He laid Elrohir to rest in the secluded glade they had loved so well. Their sanctuary by the gurgling spring with its lacy waterfall. He visited every single day. He stayed by the green mound until the others insistently led him away. And he grieved as he had never done in all his millennia of life. A part of him had been torn from him and the wound remained open, raw and unhealing. It would not close. He knew it never would. Not until Elrohir was restored to him.

He was not the only one in mourning or Elladan and his family. Gloom swathed Eryn Gael in the wake of the tragedy. The Elves made regular pilgrimages to his grave. Tended it and always adorned it with fresh garlands and the sweetest herbs. 

Elrohir had been as much loved by the Elves of Ithilien as Legolas. With his loss came a dimming of the light and laughter of the Glimmering Wood. And a veil of secrecy was drawn about the settlement as well. No word would reach the world outside of the Elf-knight’s passing. No record of it would be written down in any book. His and his twin’s withdrawal from the world of mortal beings would be perpetually shrouded in mystery henceforth. 

Meanwhile, Legolas began the building of the ship that would bear him away to the Undying Lands. He could no longer wait for Arwen’s passing. Middle-earth had lost its allure and become cold and grey now that his spouse was gone. He would tarry not on these shores. He would not remain in Middle-earth one second longer than necessary. Elrohir’s spirit now abided in Aman. Where his Elf-knight was, there he would go. 

The others understood. They supported his decision and aided him in his endeavor. And they all looked after him, determined to keep him hale and whole against the day when Elrohir should return to reclaim him. As such, one of them was always about, seeing to his state of being, never leaving him alone for long. 

It was for this reason that Elladan sought him one day and found him weeping by himself, concealed in a small clearing on a low hill by Anduin. Below, in the wide river, a grey ship lay in the new harbor the Elves of Ithilien had built. It was nearing completion.

The older twin sat by his side and curled a consoling arm around him. Legolas leaned against him, his body heaving with the terrible sobs that wracked him. Elladan allowed him to vent his grief as much as he needed to and desired.

“This is my doing,” the archer flayed himself tearfully. “He offered to keep her from accompanying you but I told him not to. And for what reason? I should have agreed!”

“Don’t, Legolas,” Elladan said. “Elrohir would never have blamed you for this.”

“But—”

“What happened was not your doing in the least. It cannot even be called an error in judgment for how could you have known what she would do in her madness?” He forestalled any further self-flagellations from the archer by pointing out: “If you would condemn yourself then so should the rest of us take our share of the blame, even Elrohir. We could have denied Gilwen’s request to escort her to her home, refused her offer of wine. But we did not and so I have lost my brother and you your mate. Will you fault us as well for our part in this?”

The archer swallowed hard then shook his head. Elladan gently said, “Then blame yourself no more. Elrohir would not be pleased to see you hurting from more than grief.”

Legolas fell silent for a long while. At length he looked up and gazed at the ship in the near distance. His ship. 

“How do you endure it?” he hoarsely asked at last. “You seem so... so at peace, Elladan, yet I know you are as torn as I. I swore to him I would not despair but— oh Valar, _gwanur_ , I cannot do this. I cannot—!” He buried his face in the warrior’s shoulder.

Elladan held him tightly, stroked his shining hair as Elrohir had oft done. “I can endure it because of our bond of brotherhood,” he softly replied.

Legolas raised his tousled head and stared at him through reddened, tear-raw eyes. “Your bond?” he quavered.

“Aye, _gwanur_. His body may be vanquished but his spirit still lives. And our bond is of the spirit. As is yours.”

He cupped the sorrowing archer’s face and looked closely at him. “Your grief has overtaken you and that is but normal,” he murmured. “But it also hinders you from feeling your bond with him. It is there, Legolas, if you would but seek it. It is eternal; it will never diminish. In that sense, Elrohir is still with you.”

“How can I feel it?” Legolas begged piteously. “Help me, Elladan. I cannot go on like this.”

“Reach into the innermost part of yourself, Legolas. Seek the channel through which your love flowed most strongly between you.” He smiled gently at his law-brother. “You knew it best when you coupled with him.”

Legolas gazed at him. Saw the truth in his storm-blue eyes. The serenity that lay in their depths stemmed from the certitude of his twin’s still existent eternal flame.

The archer trembled then closed his eyes. Striving to set aside his sorrow and loneliness, he did as Elladan counselled him and sought the center of his being. Opened his heart and soul anew despite the fear of feeling naught but emptiness and the hopelessness that would accompany it.

He willed himself to calm down, to remember only the joy and contentment of his years with Elrohir. With the gentling of his grief, his tormented soul quieted. And listened. 

It came then. Like the softest note at the beginning of a melody before it burst into the glorious strains of the chorus. A tender welling of love that blossomed and spiraled within him. A love not his own but that came from without. Through the binding channel. He drew in a sobbing breath as it flowed over him and through him and around him, enfolding him in its sweetness and warmth. He reached out, allowed his own feelings passage to his spouse. And felt the wondrous wave of acceptance and gratefulness coming through the channel.

A measure of peace came over him then. Elrohir _was_ indeed with him. He knew he would still grieve, that he would still face days of shadowed mourning and nights of black sorrow. There could be no full assuagement of his anguished yearning. But this precious connection between them, however ephemeral, would succor him in his darkest moments. With its help, he would stave off despair as he had promised Elrohir.

He opened his eyes and saw that Elladan still regarded him, still held his face in his hands. He found the wherewithal to smile at the twin. 

“Thank you, _gwanur_ ,” he whispered. 

He sighed as Elladan pressed a kiss to his temple. The Elvenlord rose and pulled him to his feet. 

“Come, he awaits you in Valinor,” Elladan quietly said. And they walked down the hill together.

********************************  
Glossary:  
Aduial - Twilight  
gwanur – brother or sister but a more accurate translation would be kinsman or kinswoman  
Calenlass nîn - my Greenleaf 

_To be continued…_


	9. VIII. Elucidation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prof. Tolkien came up with two concepts by which Elves could be returned to life. The original one—rebirth—was later supplanted by another—re-embodiment—because he decided the first one was too troublesome. I incorporated both ideas into this story.

It was a warm day near the end of May when Gimli sauntered down to the harbor wherein Legolas’s grey ship was moored. In a few more days, his friend would set sail for Valinor. The Dwarf sighed sadly but resignedly. He had long girded himself for this separation from the one Elf he called closest of his friends.

He found Legolas out on the quay discussing some matter or other with Elladan whilst all about Elves hurried to and fro, fixing, loading, and arranging all manner of goods and things. The archer would not be making his voyage alone. A fair number of his people would join him. But not his sister and law-brother or his twin nephews. Not yet. They would follow later.

The two Elves smiled at their Dwarf-comrade as he came up to them. Legolas winked at Elladan, giving Gimli the distinct impression that they had been discussing something that had to do with him. But as they declined to enlighten him he sought enlightenment on another matter instead.

“Would you care to satisfy my curiosity about something?” he inquired even as his eyes roamed over the graceful lines of the ship with admiration.

“About what, my friend?” Legolas responded.

“On the matter of Elves coming back from the dead,” Gimli said, his ruddy cheeks growing even redder. “What Elrohir said... ‘Tis passing strange to me though if this means he will return to you, then I am certainly thankful for it.”

Legolas paused then glanced at Elladan. “I am not as learned in this as you, _gwanur_ ”—brother—he quietly said. “Would you explain to Gimli for me?” 

“But of course,” Elladan smiled faintly. He turned grave slate blue eyes on the Dwarf. “It may seem strange to you that any being should come back from the dead but, in truth, for the Firstborn, ‘tis death that is unnatural and therefore not right.”

“When an Elf dies, his _faer_ , his spirit, passes into the Houses of the Dead in Námo’s halls to await judgment of his life and deeds. Needless to say, not all _Edhil_ are deemed worthy of release from the Halls of Awaiting. But for those given the grace of rebirth, ‘tis not a new life they receive but a continuation of their old one.”

“But how?” Gimli asked in amazement. “Do you just leave those halls and go on with your life as before?”

“Nay, ‘tis not that simple,” Elladan said. “The reborn body must be restored to its exact form at the time of passing though healed of any grievous desecrations to it. ‘Tis the _faer_ ’s remembrance of these details that makes this possible, but it is a slow and careful process.”

“Then how are Elves reborn?” Gimli inquired. “More to the point, how will Elrohir return?”

Elladan glanced at Legolas briefly before continuing with his discourse. “That will depend on the Valar’s will. Some are released in full-grown form. ‘Tis said this most oft occurs when one or both of the parents of the Elf in question are dead or have not passed on to Valinor yet. But more are literally reborn. When Elrohir is released from the Halls of Awaiting, his _faer_ will most likely be received into the womb of our mother to be born as an infant anon.”

“A babe?” Gimli nearly choked. “He will return as your parents’ third son?”

Elladan shook his head. “Not as their third son, but as he was when he and I were born three thousand years ago in Imladris. ‘Twill be no new infant my _naneth_ will bear but my twin brother, our Elrohir, with all the memories and knowledge he accumulated in all his long years.”

Gimli was aghast. “Rather a lot for a babe to know,” he commented. “Too much in fact.”

Elladan had to chuckle at his reaction. “The memories will not surface all at once,” he said. “He will grow like any Elfling, innocent of his past, unknowing of his future. But as he nears his coming-of-age, those memories will begin to return. By the time he reaches his majority, if all goes as they should, he will have been fully restored.”

“Are you saying that it will be as if he had never died?” sputtered Gimli incredulously.

“Elves are reborn to continue their lives, not to begin new ones,” Legolas softly reminded him. 

“But— but it will not be quite the same,” the Dwarf protested. “He will live a different life from what he experienced here in Middle-earth. How can he remain unchanged?”

“He will not remain unchanged,” Elladan agreed. “But his new memories will simply be assimilated with his old. Therefore, he will be the wiser for it. ‘Tis an arduous process and best done gradually so as not to shock a returned _Edhel_. Or so we have been told by one who knew it well.”

Gimli pursed his lips musingly. “Then once he reaches his fiftieth year, it will be him again,” he said. “Only in a new body.”

“Only in the sense that it is conceived anew,” Elladan corrected. “But it will be his body as closely as his _faer_ can make it down to the most minute details. Even his old scars will reappear. And every feeling and thought and talent he ever had—love, hate, joys and sorrows, desires and fears. Even his formidable skills on the battlefield _and_ in the bedchamber,” he added with a rakish grin. He nodded at Legolas smilingly. “But most especially his binding to our golden prince,” he added softly. “Even death cannot break such a bond in Arda.”

Legolas smiled back, comforted by his law-brother’s words. He knew full well that there was no guarantee that Elrohir would indeed be returned to him any time soon. It would all depend on the judgment and mercy of Námo of Mandos, the most dispassionate and, therefore, the least moved of the Valar. Nonetheless, he clung to his Elf-knight’s last promise to him. And every now and then reached out with his spirit to feel the other’s soothing presence.

Meanwhile, Gimli was mulling something else. “How long does it usually take before an Elf is released from the Houses of the Dead?” he queried curiously.

“No one can say,” Elladan admitted. “Only Námo and Manwë have authority in this matter.”

“But don’t you have any idea?” 

Elladan hesitated. “Only Glorfindel ever returned to Middle-earth after his rebirth,” he explained. “All others remained in the Blessed Realm.”

“Well, how long did it take for Glorfindel to get his release?” Gimli prodded.

Elladan looked uneasily at Legolas. But the archer smiled wanly and nodded his acquiescence to having Gimli’s curiosity satisfied.

“He never spoke to us of his rebirth, not even to my father,” Elladan said slowly. “He may have confided in Erestor after their binding, but the rest of us do not know the exact circumstances of his release. We can only guess as to the time of it. Glorfindel died defending my grandfather, Eärendil, and his parents, Tuor and Idril, against a Balrog of Morgoth at the Fall of Gondolin.”

“A Balrog!” Gimli whistled appreciatively at the Noldorin warrior’s feat, remembering as he did the creature the Fellowship had encountered in the mines of Moria during the Quest. And then he did a double take. “He died during the First Age?” he gasped. “Then when in Durin’s name did he come back to Middle-earth?”

“All we know is that he came to the court of Gil-Galad in Lindon toward the middle of the Second Age with the specific purpose of serving my father who lived there at the time.”

Gimli calculated the length of time in his head. “All things considered, that means it took at least a millennium before he returned and maybe even longer,” he remarked. He grimaced guiltily when he espied the flicker of pain that shadowed Legolas’s eyes.

“I am a bone-headed, blundering idiot!” he growled. “Your Elrohir bade me to take care of you and instead, here I am adding to your suffering. I am so sorry, Legolas. I did not mean to make you feel worse than you do already.”

“‘Tis all right, my friend,” Legolas said soothingly. “I was not unprepared and you have been of great comfort to me these past many weeks. Elrohir would be pleased.”

Gimli snorted in embarrassment. “More likely he’ll wring my neck for distressing you,” he commented. “If I’m still around when he finally gets out of those dratted halls!”

The two Elves looked at each other in a conspiratorial manner. Legolas gently said to the Dwarf: “You will be, Gimli.”

The Dwarf raised sceptical eyebrows. “I may be of a long-lived race, Legolas, but a thousand years is a tad too lengthy even for me,” he pointed out.

“Not in Valinor.”

Gimli started then stared at him. “What do you mean?” he demanded.

Legolas took a deep breath and said, “I want you to come with me when I sail for Aman.”

Gimli now not only stared at him, but also gaped so gracelessly the Elves would have laughed had the matter not been so serious. 

The Dwarf managed to recover his wits. “You know full well I cannot sail over sea,” he snorted. “I am no Elf.”

“That you are not,” Elladan agreed humorously. “But you can sail and sail you must if you intend to accept the Lady of the Wood’s true gift to you.”

“What are you talking about? I already have her gift.” Gimli fingered the locket on his breast with its treasure of a strand of golden hair.

“Nay, that was but the symbol of her gift,” Elladan said. “To smooth your passage to the Blessed Realm so to speak.”

Gimli stared at the two Elves in befuddlement. “Wha-what?” he all but stuttered. 

“All speaking races not of Man-kind are fading,” Legolas said somberly. “Even Dwarves and Hobbits will dwindle as men spread out and take over the lands of Middle-earth.”

“Almighty Eru has given leave to the Valar to take of each race and preserve more than their memory in the Undying Lands,” Elladan added. “As the Ring-bearers now represent the Halflings in Valinor, so have you been chosen to represent your kindred. ‘Twas my grandmother’s privilege and duty to make this decision and she chose you, Gimli.”

The Dwarf stared at them flabbergasted. Despite all the improbable things he had encountered and the most impossible events coming to pass, he had not at all expected this astonishing gift. And from the Lady at that! 

Nevertheless, he was not easily won over even by the knowledge of the Lady’s favor. The Elves had to argue long and loudly with him to convince him to accompany Legolas.

The Dwarf balked at going to a land peopled by, as he baldly put it, blasted immortals who were probably more insufferable than the Elves of Middle-earth. He also grumbled about the nuisance of packing and preparing for an eternity in a strange new land. What was he supposed to bring with him? What _could_ he bring with him? Oh, botheration! It was simply too much trouble.

Legolas finally resorted to other means of persuasion. Would Gimli now break his promise to Elrohir? he demanded. Had he uttered those words merely to ease his passing? 

“That is blackmail!” Gimli roared.

“Of a sort,” Legolas agreed.

“You would resort to so low a deed?” Gimli retorted.

“If I have to,” Legolas replied.

As the Dwarf stood there huffing with indignation, Legolas pleaded with him. “I would not ask this of you if I did not need you by my side, old friend. Please.”

Gimli hesitated. But finally he grinned and said, “At least, I shall get to see whether the Lady is still as beautiful as I remember.” 

And Legolas smiled in relief. It was one victory that he savored. He did not think he could bear to lose his Dwarf friend as well. He placed a hand on Gimli’s shoulder as they all turned to regard the ship once more. 

A few more days, the archer thought longingly. A few more days and he would at last seek the western shores.

oOoOoOo

His sword. His clothing. His leather-bound collection of illustrations. Legolas hugged the sketchbook snugly and closed his eyes.

It was the eve of his departure and he was in his bedchamber. The room he had shared with Elrohir for close to a hundred years. Where his Elf-knight had shown him naught but love and brought him more joy and contentment than he had thought possible for any being. 

He was not leaving anything of Elrohir’s behind. Each and every item had become as a treasure to him. And he intended that if— _when_ , he determinedly told himself—his mate returned, he would have his possessions again. 

He sighed. His heart still bled for his spouse. He doubted the wound would ever be staunched completely. It was worst at night. At least, during the day, he had his duties to distract him from his loneliness and grief. But the nights...

How he missed Elrohir then. Missed having his warm, withy body pressed against him. His limbs entwined with his. His inimitable kisses and caresses. Even the sounds of their loving had become a most precious memory to him. And indeed, it was not simply their love-play that he so yearned for but their mutual loving expressed in that most physical and intimate of ways. 

He did not know how others coped with the loss of their mates. He wished he had their strength. His father’s strength. Thranduil had lived without his beloved wife for years beyond count. How had he done it? Legolas knew he would not last that long. If Elrohir did not return soonest...

He did not have that strength. Not where his heart was concerned. He had known this from the moment he entrusted it to Elrohir. And the Elf-knight had tenderly kept it all these years. And still kept it.

He reached into himself as he always did when the sorrow threatened to overtake him. Reached for the assurance of his darkling spouse’s love and concern. It was not always enough to keep the tears from falling. But it was always just enough to keep despair at bay. As it did now. He felt the balming connection again and drew a calming breath. 

He would be strong. He would not fade. Elrohir would never forgive him were he to return and find him less than whole. 

He saw in his mind’s eye the grey ship in Anduin. Tomorrow it would bear him away from Middle-earth. He would at last answer the sea-longing that had awakened more than a century ago. 

He was going home.

_To be continued…_


	10. IX. The Shores of Aman

Valinor, _Nárië_ F.A. 121  
The archer sighed heavily as he shook himself out of his memories. He looked out from the prow of the grey ship he had built to take him over sea. But though he kept his back to Middle-earth and resolutely looked to the West, a part of him still hearkened to the lands in which he had lived so long and loved if only for a short time. 

Legolas espied something in the horizon. “Gimli!” he called. The Dwarf slowly came up to his side and cocked a questioning eye at him. “Look, Gimli, ‘tis Valinor!”

“I can guess that! Know-it-all-Elf!” the Dwarf muttered.

Legolas simply smiled.

They both gazed with wonder as a vast green country opened up before them. There was Tol Eressëa, the Lonely Isle, in the Bay of Eldamar, its white tower thrusting proudly into the sky. And there was the white sand on the long beaches and the massive mountain range of the Pelori on the easternmost shore of the continent.

“Now those are what I call mountains!” Gimli whistled admiringly. 

The ship veered north towards Alqualondë, the city of the Teleri. Legolas caught sight of the great natural arch that was the gateway to the harbor. As they passed through the arch, Legolas curiously scanned the shore. There were folk awaiting the docking of the ship, some on the lamp lit quay, others further back. His breath caught in his throat when he noticed two figures in particular standing on the quay. There was no mistaking the form and bearing of Thranduil, King of the woodland realm of Mirkwood, Eryn Lasgalen of the Silvan Elves. But the other…

Gimli looked at him curiously. “What is it, my pointy-eared friend?” he queried. “I swear you have grown several shades whiter. If that’s possible for an Elf.”

“‘Tis my mother, Gimli,” Legolas replied in a hushed tone. “My mother! I have not seen her in twenty centuries!”

Gimli quickly peered over the railing of the ship and stared at the tall Elf lady by Thranduil’s side. “By Durin’s axe, so that’s where you got that face of yours!” he gruffly commented. “Never did think you looked much like your father.” 

Beside Thranduil and Ithilwen stood other figures. Legolas swallowed hard at the sight of Elrond, Celebrían, Galadriel and Gandalf. How they had known that this day heralded his arrival he could not even begin to guess but he was more concerned about the news he bore. How was he going to tell them of Elrohir’s passing? 

As soon as he and Gimli debarked, Thranduil and Ithilwen hurried to greet them. The Elvenking enclosed his son in a hearty embrace before giving way to his wife. For a moment, Legolas gazed upon his mother, scarcely believing that she was restored to them.

“ _Nana_ ,” he murmured. Mama. And then he was in her arms and she was weeping with joy at holding him once more after so very long a separation. At his side, Legolas was dimly aware of his father welcoming Gimli. 

“How did you know I was coming?” he softly asked.

Ithilwen smiled and said: “The eagles bring word to us of events in the Hither Lands. We already know of your binding to Elrohir,” she added.

Legolas stared at her in amazement. Then he realized Elrond and Celebrían had neared them and he felt his heart fill with dread.

“Legolas, where is Elrohir?” Elrond asked in puzzlement. “Did he not come with you or will he follow with Elladan?”

Legolas swallowed with difficulty. He pulled away from his mother and turned grief-stricken eyes on the former Lord and Lady of Imladris. Elrond and Celebrían stared at him in shock, reading the answer in his expression. Legolas flinched at the other Elves’ horrified gasps. For a moment, silence descended upon the group. Then Celebrían melted into her husband’s arms and buried her tearful countenance in his consoling embrace. 

Elrond looked up after a moment at the prince, his own face etched with sorrow. “When?” he whispered.

“Right after Estel’s passing,” Legolas choked. “He—”

Elrond held up a hand to forestall him. “We will speak of this later,” he said softly. “I will not have your homecoming and your parents’ joy marred any further.” 

Celebrían looked up and seeing Legolas’s anguish, reached out and pulled him into her arms as well. Elrond put his arms around them both. The three of them stood thus for a while, Legolas finding solace in the embrace of Elrohir’s parents and they, likewise, finding comfort in the presence of their son’s spouse.

At length, Elrond let him go and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We must take heart,” he said firmly. “As your beloved mother was returned to you, so will our Elrohir be restored to us. We will await that day.”

“But when will that be?” Legolas asked bleakly. “How long must we endure the waiting?”

Elrond sighed and shook his head. “Only Mandos can say,” he gently said. “We can but pray that it will be soonest, the Valar willing.” 

Legolas nodded in resignation then looked up as Galadriel and Gandalf approached. Beside him, Gimli’s jaw dropped open. The Dwarf still remembered how beautiful the Lady was but time had caused him to forget just how much. 

Galadriel greeted them with words of welcome. Then she gazed sadly at Legolas. Though she remained quite composed, there was no mistaking the profound sorrow she felt for the loss of her younger grandson. “I grieve with you, son of Thranduil,” she said in her low melodic voice. “May the Powers bring you solace and peace.”

Legolas simply bowed his head in thanks. Galadriel turned her wondrous eyes on Gimli, which promptly caused the Dwarf to almost choke on his prepared greeting. 

“There is still none more beautiful than the Lady of the Golden Wood,” he finally managed to stammer. “Middle-earth is sadly diminished without your radiance to light up its forests.”

Despite her grief, Galadriel smiled at the Dwarf’s praise. “You still have a place in my regard, Master Gimli,” she gravely replied. “Eldamar is now the richer for your presence.” 

Leaving Gimli to untie his suddenly uncooperative tongue, Legolas turned to Gandalf. It seemed like only yesterday that he had last seen the venerable Istar. Yet as he beheld the eyes of his old friend he saw that they still twinkled with the humor and wit he had known so well. He tried to smile when the erstwhile Wizard greeted him.

But Gandalf saw past the smile to the sadness within him. Understanding and compassion softened his crusty features. 

“You bear a great burden, Legolas,” he softly remarked. “Though I see that you have not given in to despair.”

“He made me promise that I would not.” Legolas sighed. “I miss him so, Mithrandir. And today the wound hurts more than ever.” He nodded in his mother’s direction. “I am reminded once more that I will have to bear this loss for a long time. Mayhap more than I can endure.”

“Do you regret loving him so deeply then?” Gandalf said gently.

Legolas’s smile was a ghost of its former self. “Nay, given a choice, I would do it all over again,” he said but he also admitted, “I only wish that there was some way to dull the pain if only for a little while.”

Gandalf placed a comforting hand on the Elf’s shoulder. “Well, do not break your promise now, Prince of Eryn Lasgalen,” he counselled him. “It would trouble him so. Yet I do not tell you not to grieve but to hold on to hope.”

“Hope of what?” Legolas asked.

Gandalf broke into a strange smile. “Hope that happiness will be yours once more ere long. Remember, joy oft comes when you least expect it.”

Legolas gazed at the Istar in puzzlement. “In one thing you have not changed, Mithrandir,” he observed with some amusement. “You still speak in riddles and verily enjoy it!” The Wizard’s eyes twinkled back at him.

Thranduil and Gimli came up beside him; the King said, “You have other friends waiting to see you.” 

He glanced towards the shore. There stood two small beings who might have been mistaken for boys.

Gimli gasped. “Legolas! Do my eyes deceive me? Are those Frodo and Sam?”

“Aye, my friend,” Legolas replied. “Come, let us meet them.”

Frodo and Sam ran up to them as they approached. “Legolas! Master Gimli, how are you?” Sam cried excitedly, looking as he had when they had set forth on the Quest. “What news of the Shire?” 

While Gimli gave the little gardener a swift summary of the latest events in the Shire, Legolas looked down at Frodo. The Hobbit no longer looked worn and wounded and his eyes held a peace that had been sorely absent in the years after he destroyed the One Ring. “We meet again, Frodo Baggins,” Legolas softly said. 

“Yes, bless the Powers,” Frodo replied, beaming up at him. “And it is a great joy to see old friends after all this time.”

The rest of the party had followed them. Now Elrond addressed the Dwarf. “Master Gimli, before you accuse us of lacking in hospitality, I bid you come to my house for a feast in honor of your arrival.”

Gimli’s eyes lighted up in anticipation. “A feast?” he echoed. “And are the food and drink of my Lord Elrond’s house as good as I remember?” he grinned impertinently.

Sam shook his head. “No, Master Gimli, it isn’t as you remember.”

Gimli’s countenance drooped. “No?” he said almost mournfully.

“No,” Frodo informed him with spurious solemnity. “It’s better!” 

The Dwarf’s spirits were instantly revived. “Better!” he exclaimed. 

“Yes,” Sam affirmed with laughing eyes. “Mr. Bilbo took a hand in the preparations and you know how well he can throw a party!”

“Legolas! Did you hear that?” Gimli crowed. “Why are we dawdling here? Let us go at once!”

Legolas had to chuckle at his friend’s eagerness. His heart lightened if only for the moment. More than ever he was glad the Dwarf had come with him. He blessed Elrohir for getting Gimli to make that promise to take care of him. 

They climbed the crystal stairs that ascended Túna in the Calacirya and came unto the city that crowned the hill. Elrond and Celebrían dwelt among their Noldorin kin. But in memory of Imladris they had chosen to live outside of the city of Tirion, by the western slopes of the Pelori, their home in a cleft in the mountainside surrounded by lush, fragrant groves reminiscent of the woods of the hidden vale. Nearby, tumbling waterfalls recalled the cascades of Rivendell. 

Unlike Galadriel or Thranduil, Elrond had not sought a realm of his own in Valinor. After all, though he had had its lordship, Imladris had been founded as a refuge rather than a kingdom. But the Elves he had ruled wisely for two ages refused to leave him and dwelt so near to his halls that they had eventually formed a community so close-knit as to be considered apart from the rest of Tirion. Even such prominent Elves as Glorfindel and Erestor remained in his service, acknowledging the lordship of none but Elrond’s. Here, too, had the Hobbits settled, their cozy home as much like Bag End in Hobbiton as the Elves could make it.

In a short span of time, the Rivendell Elves came to be recognized as a people separate from the Noldor, with Elrond and Celebrían as their chosen lord and lady. Even Finarfin, who ruled the Noldor, respected the Imladrins’ independence and deferred to Elrond in all matters that concerned his people. Within a few more years, Artirion, as the community came to be known, became a realm unto its own. 

Elrond and Celebrían’s spacious halls were very much like the Last Homely House and a quick look around told Legolas and Gimli that even in Eldamar, Elrond’s reputation as a loremaster and healer held fast. Legolas had to smile at the treasure trove of tomes and scrolls and bottled herbs and oils that peeked from shelves, cabinets and cupboards. Different from Elrond’s halls in Imladris yet also the same. 

For the present, all set aside their sorrow and basked in the warmth and affection of each other’s company. As promised, the food and wine was everything Gimli could have wished for and more. He and the Hobbits were practically competing to see who could consume the most halfway through the meal.

Finally, Thranduil regretfully announced that he and his family had to go. They took their leave of Elrond and Celebrían. Gimli, too, said his goodbyes though it was understood that he would return after visiting with Legolas’s family. The Dwarf had decided he would live in Artirion with the Hobbits, disliking the idea of dwelling permanently in any woodland domain.

Several woodland warriors awaited them in the courtyard, as did three beautiful Elven steeds. As always, Gimli was hoisted up behind the prince, muttering predictably about how horses and Dwarves did not mix and questioning why he let Legolas talk him into riding when getting around on one’s own two feet was much safer. 

He did fall silent, however, as they began the descent down a wide pass on the western face of Túna which then turned south. As they rounded a shoulder of the mountainside, a vast forest spread out before them. Legolas gasped in delight while Gimli’s jaw dropped open in amazement. 

His mother smiled at their awed expressions. “Behold Taur Galen, _ion nîn_ ”—my son—Ithilwen said.

Legolas started, stared at her, then at his father. “But that is just another rendering of Greenwood!” he exclaimed. 

Thranduil beamed. “Aye, and ‘tis also the realm now of our folk,” he explained. “’Twas given us upon our arrival in Valinor. The Powers understood that Wood-elves cannot do without the forests anymore than they can stop breathing.”

“And are you still their king, _Ada_?”—Papa—Legolas queried.

“They would have no other,” Ithilwen interjected, her pride in her husband resonating in her voice. “Not even Olwë who is lord of the Teleri and your father’s kinsman.”

Thranduil smiled indulgently at his wife before winking in a most unkingly fashion at Legolas and Gimli. 

“And what of the Galadhrim?” Gimli inquired, understandably interested in the welfare of the Lady Galadriel’s folk. He had been too diffident to long engage the Lady in conversation during dinner.

“Their realm is but a few miles from ours, in Maltaurë,” Thranduil smiled. At his son’s double take, his smile broadened. “It seems that _mellyrn_ do grow in Valinor as well.”

oOoOoOo

They followed an elven track very similar to the old one in Mirkwood. But this path was wider and more straightforward; there was no need for deception or concealment in Aman.

Taur Galen’s trees were also not as closely packed as Greenwood’s. The forest was light and airy and sunlight and moonlight easily penetrated its canopy.

Legolas breathed in the sweet air and felt his spirits lift a little higher. At the very least, his heart would be soothed by these friendly trees if not completely healed. That would only come with the return of that part of it that had been wrenched from him so cruelly.

To his surprise, they soon came upon the first bow houses of his father’s people. The Woodland Realm lay but a mere two hours from the eastern borders of the forest. In all, the whole trip had taken little more than three hours from start to finish. It meant that travel between Artirion and Taur Galen could be accomplished not only in a short time but on the spur of the moment if so desired. A far cry from the needed-to-be-prepared-way-in-advance, weeks-long journey over the Misty Mountains between Rivendell and Greenwood. The thought comforted Legolas. The proximity to Artirion and his friends would make frequent visits possible and that cheered him immeasurably.

He delighted in his parents’ tales concerning the forest; listened avidly as they introduced him and Gimli to the unfamiliar growth that mingled with beech, elm and oak. Legolas wondered if Maltaurë would prove as enthralling as the Golden Wood. But then, this was the Blessed Realm. No doubt the enchantment would be threefold if Taur Galen was any indication of Valinor’s wonders.

They passed under a beauteous tree-roofed corridor and came into a vast clearing. Elf-prince and Dwarf-lord gasped. Instead of Mirkwood’s delved palace, here was a soaring structure wrought out of the very trees themselves. 

“Welcome home, my son,” the Elvenking said quietly as he led them across a wooden bridge over a bubbling stream onto a wide cobbled courtyard.

Elves packed the open space in joyful welcome of their prince. Legolas blinked away the sudden moisture that blurred his sight. He could not help being deeply moved by their regard. And their tacit sympathy. It was apparent word of his loss had reached the kingdom ahead of their arrival. That they mourned Elrohir was obvious in the compassionate gazes they cast upon the prince. That nearly undid Legolas.

'They loved him,' he thought. 'He was as much their prince as I am.'

His sorrow was momentarily forgotten, however, when they entered the great hall. The main hall of Thranduil’s woodland palace was breathtaking to say the least. Even here the forest was welcome. Great trees served as pillars, their massive trunks reaching heavenwards into the high vaulted ceiling of the building. 

They came out into a vast space behind the palace wherein a merry fountain danced. Beyond was a building that recalled to him the residential pavilion of the Woodland Realm in Greenwood. But to his surprise, after his parents showed Gimli to his chambers, they led him away down yet another path into a secluded grove a short distance from the pavilion.

He gaped when he saw the house. A two-level structure whose one side had been built around the trunk of a massive oak. An exact copy of his home in Eryn Gael. He stared at his parents in shock.

“Elrohir gave me detailed illustrations of your halls in Ithilien ere I sailed,” Thranduil softly told him.

Tears stung the archer’s eyes then. Wordlessly, he hurried into the house and looked about in wonder. It was as if he were back in Ithilien. Every piece of furniture and adornment had been duplicated and arranged just as they had been in his home in the Glimmering Wood. He swallowed hard when he saw the staircase leading up to the next floor. Shyly looking at his parents and receiving encouraging smiles from them, he ascended.

Elation took away his ever-present sadness for the moment. He could not help smiling widely as he inspected the upper-floor rooms—the guest chambers, the study. Even the small open alcove with its sole divan where he and Elrohir had sometimes spent a night’s loving under the stars was there. 

But the ache returned when he walked into his bedchamber. It was the one thing that had been altered somewhat. More spacious than his room in Ithilien, it had been enlarged for the use of a couple. At first, Legolas could scarcely bring himself to even go near the wide bed meant for two or look at the tub in the adjoining bathing chamber large enough for his and Elrohir’s well-known antics.

But the belief that he would eventually share these beautiful quarters with the Elf-knight heartened him anew. And he comforted himself with the knowledge that the younger twin would love their home, fond as he was of the pleasures of such sumptuous accommodations. These thoughts in mind, he finally found the wherewithal to appreciate and consider a haven the sanctuary his parents had so lovingly prepared. He was smiling again when he rejoined them shortly and they went back to fetch Gimli for a more thorough exploration of his new home. 

His prayer that first night in the Undying Lands was simple but fervent. Standing on his balcony overlooking the gardens, he pleaded with all his heart that the Valar would hearken to his plight and restore his heart’s desire, his soul’s chosen one soonest. 

*************************************  
Glossary:  
Nárië – Quenya for June  
mellyrn – plural of mallorn

_To be continued..._


	11. X. Twilight's Advent

Artirion, _Yavannië_ F.A. 138  
Legolas seated himself upon the wide sill of the arched window in the library on the far side of Elrond’s halls. He gazed out pensively at the night sky; stared at the starry firmament as he strove to calm his ruffled feelings. 

It was now seventeen years since his arrival in Valinor. Sixteen since Elladan and Nimeithel had learned of Arwen’s passing and followed him to the Undying Lands. With them had come their twins and Celeborn and Lindir and all the remaining Elves of Imladris. Eryn Gael, the settlement he had founded in Ithilien still flourished, however, as did the Woodland Realm of Eryn Lasgalen. 

But even these two elven domains’ times were ending. Nimeithel had brought word to her parents and brother that Melthoron and Brethildor would eventually come to Aman along with their respective mates and families and many of their Wood-elven subjects. Theirs would most likely be the last ship to sail from the Hither Lands. When that happened, Círdan would also forsake Middle-earth’s shores and Lindon, the longest lasting elven realm in the Hither Lands, would pass into legend as well. Any of the Firstborn who chose to remain behind would either have to seek their own means of travel to Valinor as Legolas had done or dwindle and become a hidden folk, a matter of myth and rumor to men of later days. 

But for those who came to Aman to eternally reside in Elvenhome, there was the joy of reunion with loved ones and the gradual adjustment to their new abode. Legolas smiled at the notion. He himself no longer felt like a stranger in Valinor. He had to admit he was very much at home in Eldamar. The house he always kept in readiness for his own much prayed-for reunion was a refuge of incalculable worth. And the nearness of close kith and kin had helped ease his loneliness to a more tolerable degree.

His wandering thoughts returned to the reason for his presence this evening in Elrond’s halls.

The Lord of Artirion was feting his wife who was newly announced to be with child. After the heart-rending losses of two dearly beloved children, it was no wonder the couple rejoiced in this unlooked for blessing. It was reason enough to hold a great celebration in their gracious home. Reason enough to invite many of the noblest of the Eldar of Valinor to the occasion.

Thus Elrond’s wide halls and Celebrían’s elegant gardens teemed with guests from Tirion, Alqualondë, Taur Galen and Maltaurë. And Vanyar, Noldor and Teleri mingled felicitously, partook of the sumptuous feast laid out for their pleasure and discussed their hosts’ unprecedented hospitality. If this was how well Elrond and Celebrían celebrated the conception of a child, they could only imagine what the couple would do when said child was actually born! 

Legolas, though he had had little heart for merry making, had done his duty as their law-son and mingled with the guests at first. But before long, the unwanted attentions of admiring females and the unwelcome importuning of would-be suitors had driven him to seek solitude in this isolated part of Elrond’s home. 

The flirtatious _ellith_ and salacious _ellyn_ had tested his patience to the hilt, more so the latter. At least, the maidens retreated once he made it clear he was determined to remain chaste. But the males could be too persistent and he had already had to resort to physical means to rid himself of one troublesome Elf. 

He twisted the gold band on his finger. It shocked him that even the evidence of his status as a bound Elf was not enough to discourage them. It did not occur to him that sheer fairness of countenance and form could turn even the most reasonable Elf into an imprudent hunter. 

He was by no means disinterested in others’ company. He frequently sought the fellowship of his friends as well as family. Elladan was ever ready to accommodate him in his occasional need for succor and counsel; their age-old friendship had deepened even further in the wake of their mutual loss. And there was Gimli and the perpetually cheerful Hobbits to sustain him when his spirits drooped. His childhood friends, Mithrael and Heledir, had also long settled in Valinor with their families and he spent many a day with them. And he had made new friends, of course, amongst the long time residents of Eldamar and was loyal to and caring of them as well. But that was all he was willing to give of himself. 

He could not conceive of sharing himself intimately with any other save his departed spouse. And it was not mere duty that stayed him from seeking the tenuous consolation of casual, noncommittal bed-play but that he craved no other’s touch save Elrohir’s. Simply put, they were not he and therefore found no favor with him. 

He sensed the entrance of someone into the chamber. A scathing remark nearly escaped his lips before he realized it was his mother, Ithilwen, who approached. He relaxed and smiled ruefully at her.

Ithilwen could not help the sense of pride that welled up within her as she regarded her youngest son. Clad in a midnight-hued tunic over dark grey long breeches and light shoes, he was a vision of startling contrasts but a vision nonetheless. There were few _Edhil_ to match his sublime radiance in all Aman even amongst the golden Vanyar. Indeed, his beauty had been extolled throughout Elfdom since he set foot in the Blessed Realm. But none of his admirers had attained the pleasure of winning more than polite acknowledgement of their appreciation of that aforementioned beauty. 

“I am glad you still welcome my presence, _ion nîn_ ”—my son—she said with a knowing smile.

Legolas reached out a hand and helped his mother onto the sill beside him. “I am sorry, _Nana_. I thought you were that tiresome Bregon who would not believe that I am not pining for someone to share my bed.”

Ithilwen laughed softly at his expression of exasperation. “Since he did not follow you I must presume you managed to convince him of your resolve. May I ask what you did to dissuade him?”

Legolas snorted. “I flipped him into the garden pond and left him to cool his ardor in its chill waters.”

Ithilwen giggled, eliciting a chuckle from her son. “I am sure he believes you now,” she said.

Legolas sighed. “If only they would just leave me alone. You would think once they saw my ring they would know better than to pursue me.”

Ithilwen paused. She raised a white hand and stroked her son’s cheek gently. “I fear you have attracted much interest, Legolas. There are many who would not mind the impermanence of mere physical intimacy with one as desirable as you. And there are also those who seek to bind themselves or their daughters or sons to you.”

“Because they seek alliances with _Ada_ and our kinsman, King Olwë,” Legolas said with contempt.

“Your beauty and strength are also potent incentives, _pen neth_.”—young one.

Legolas shook his head. “They seek in vain. Let them look elsewhere. I already have a _bereth_ , a spouse, and there is no breaking our bond.”

“But would you do so if it were permitted?”

Legolas looked at her in surprise. “Permitted?” he repeated. “Are you saying a binding can be broken?”

“If the Doom of Finwë and Miriel were to be invoked and the Valar countenanced it, then, aye, a binding may be dissolved,” Ithilwen replied

“What Doom is this?” Legolas asked, more out of curiosity than interest.

“Ages ago, Miriel Serindë, wife of Finwë, first King of the Noldor, passed into the Halls of Awaiting,” the woodland queen explained. “Finwë grew lonely and also longed for more children and, thus, desired another wife. To accommodate his desire, Miriel agreed to forfeit her chance of ever coming forth again from Mandos’s halls. She chose to remain within them for eternity. Thus, Finwë was released from his vows and took Indis of the Vanyar as his second wife. The rest of that tale you already know.”

Legolas stared at her in dawning suspicion. “Why have you brought this up?” he queried. “Do you and _Ada_ want to marry me off to someone?”

“Nay, _mell nîn_ , we know full well where your affections lie.” Ithilwen hesitated. “‘Tis Olwë who has inquired about your willingness in this matter. It seems that an impressive number of Elves have urged him to persuade you to consider taking a new mate.”

“What?” Legolas gasped, aghast. “Are they mad? They would doom Elrohir to an eternity in those halls for the sake of their ambitions?” He flashed an angry scowl at his mother. “You already know my answer, _Nana_. Why did you even trouble to ask me such a foul thing?”

“Because ‘tis Olwë who made this request and, out of respect for him, I had to put the question to you,” Ithilwen pointed out.

Legolas started to tremble with rage. “Will they force this upon me?” he demanded. “Can they break us apart? If they do, their efforts will be in vain for I will sooner die than be bound to another and be forever parted from Elrohir!”

“My love, my love, no one can force this upon you,” Ithilwen cooed soothingly. “If ‘tis your desire to keep your bond with him, there is no force in Arda that can break it. Nay, not even the Valar themselves if you or he are unwilling.”

“They are fools to think that I would replace Elrohir with some mewling brat or overweening pretender,” Legolas hissed. 

Ithilwen sighed. “Unfortunately, there are still some misguided souls who think a Half-elven lord not worthy of a prince of the Teleri,” she said. “Not all the Elves of Eldamar know of the Peredhil’s wondrous deeds in Middle-earth.” She nodded in the direction of the festivities. “They respect Elrond and his family, but there are those who decry wedding or breeding with _Edhil_ who bear mortal blood in their veins.” 

Legolas laughed bitterly. “They would compare themselves with a grandson of Eärendil? They could never hope to match him in nobility or valor or beauty, much less surpass him. ‘Tis folly to imagine that I would ever give him up for one of _them_ ,” he snapped angrily. Of a sudden, he heaved a shuddering breath. “They do not see that all that holds me from despair is the hope of being with him again,” he said almost whisperingly. “That only his oath has kept me from waning in grief.”

“His oath?” Ithilwen echoed in surprise. Her heart suddenly ached for her son, as his anger dissipated to be replaced by sorrow.

“Before he died he swore he would come back to me,” Legolas said painfully. “He—he said he would beg of the Powers and Eru himself if he had to that he be returned to me and soonest.” 

He looked at his mother, eyes bright with unshed tears. “I know only Námo can decide if a _faer_ may leave his halls but I have held onto Elrohir’s promise nevertheless. I have to believe that he will come back to me else I will despair. I promised him I would not despair, _Nana_.” His voice broke as he finished.

Ithilwen pulled her son into her arms. “Ah, my Legolas, I did not realize how deeply you still grieve for him,” she murmured. “Do not stop believing then.” 

She drew away and cupped his face between her palms. “Keep your promise to him and do not despair. Trust that the Powers will have pity and grant your heart’s desire ere long.” She wiped the incipient tears from his eyes. “And as for Olwë’s request, your father and I will make it perfectly clear to him that ‘tis out of the question. Do not fear force or coercion from any quarter, my love. ‘Tis your will in this matter that the Valar will uphold.” 

Legolas laid his head gratefully upon his mother’s shoulder. Small comfort though her words of encouragement were, it was still comfort and that he needed if he were to go on hoping.

oOoOoOo

Eldamar, _Yavannië_ F.A. 139  
The youngest prince of Taur Galen looked out upon the cobalt waters in the Bay of Eldamar, facing east to where the Hither Lands lay. It was now eighteen years since Elrohir had passed away. Eighteen years since his heart had been rendered wounded and unhealing.

He oft stood on the long white shores of Valinor, looking back to where the Elf-knight’s green grave still lay. Always, memories assailed him and, though bitter mingled with the sweet in the remembering, he needed to recall the past in order to endure the lonely present and keep up his hopes for the future. He twisted the gold band on his right index finger. It had become his habit to do so whenever he thought of his darkling mate.

After a long memory-tapestried while, he turned his back on the sea and made his way to Artirion. 

A few days ago, a messenger had arrived in Alqualondë where Thranduil and his wife and son were visiting with his kinsman, Olwë. The Elf had announced the birth of a son to Elrond and Celebrían that very morn. 

The messenger had also specifically issued an invitation to Legolas to visit Elrond’s halls as soon as he could. Legolas had accepted but before proceeding to the healer’s home this day, he had made this quick trip to the shores of Eldamar first. It was almost like a pilgrimage to him, one that strengthened his connection with Elrohir no matter how fleeting or elusive.

He was blithely welcomed by Elladan and Nimeithel. To his bemusement, they immediately led him to Elrond and Celebrían’s bedchamber, broadly beaming all the way. The Lady of Artirion sat up in bed, cradling her babe, her doting husband at her side. As soon as she saw Legolas she beckoned to him, a secret smile on her lovely face.

“ _Suilad_ , Legolas”—Greetings—Celebrían said. “We are pleased you were able to visit us in this time of joy.” 

Legolas smiled back. “I would not miss this moment for all the gold in Arda, _Naneth_ ”—Mother—he replied.

“Indeed, ‘tis worth more than gold,” Elrond remarked cryptically. “Come, will you not look upon our son?” 

Legolas shyly acquiesced and bent over the child. His eyes softened as he took in the infant’s dark beauty. Sable hair and proud eyebrows marked him as Elrond’s son, but the pale luminosity of his skin and the sinuous sculpted lips of his mouth, both so alike to Elladan’s, were undeniably inherited from Celebrían. He reached out a hand and with his finger stroked a plump, petal-smooth cheek.

The infant’s eyes opened at his touch and a pair of long-lashed grey eyes stared at him. Grey that bordered on silver, Legolas realized with awe. He was all but mesmerized by the infant’s gaze. Then all unbidden, the babe broke into a smile and, to the archer’s amazement, reached out its arms to him. He looked at Celebrían uncertainly.

“I think he would like to make your acquaintance,” she dimpled and, without hesitation, eased her child into the prince’s arms. 

Legolas’s eyes widened as tiny hands instantly grasped a stray flaxen lock that had fallen over his shoulder and clung to it with gleeful tenacity. He had to smile as the infant toothlessly grinned at him in delight. 

“What is his name, my lord?” he inquired of Elrond, gaze still locked on the wee Elfling.

“The same name he bore in Middle-earth, Legolas,” Elrond replied ever so gently. “Elrohir.”

In that moment, time seemed to come to a standstill. Turning almost paler than the pristine draperies of the bedchamber, Legolas stared first at Elrond, then at Celebrían, before looking back down at the infant in his arms. He was forced to take several deep breaths before he regained the ability to speak lucidly.

“El-Elrohir?” he stammered. “He is-he is returned…”

Words failed him as the silvery eyes continued to regard him with innocent wonder. 

“Aye, Legolas, he is returned to us,” Elladan confirmed. “Do you not mark what year it is?”

Legolas looked at him in perplexity for a long while before suddenly letting out a stunned gasp. It was the one hundred thirty ninth year of the Fourth Age in the reckoning of Middle-earth. The very same year the twins had been born in Imladris in the last age. And now he realized with ever increasing awe that the infant had been born on Elladan’s begetting day almost down to the very minute the elder twin had emerged from his mother’s womb. 

The others smiled with glee when they noted his full comprehension. 

Elrond said gratefully: “‘Tis remarkable that he was released so soon. It seems our prayers in this regard were answered quite promptly.”

Legolas could only nod mutely at first. And then he collected his wits and looked curiously at Elrond and Celebrían.

“Did you know ‘twas he that you carried?” the archer asked in a hushed voice.

The silver-haired Elf-lady nodded. “Námo informed us when he decided to release our son from his halls.”

“Why did you not tell me?” Legolas said a little reproachfully to his law-parents. “You knew how much I yearned for this day.”

Elladan placed a soothing hand on his shoulder. “We did not want you waiting on hope for a whole year, _gwanur_. We thought it would be more gratifying for you to see him in the flesh and know for a fact that he is at last returned.”

Nimeithel added, “Father and Mother thought this course wisest, too, _tôr iuar_.”—older brother.

Legolas was at a loss for words. He knew they had only sought to spare him more unbearable waiting. Still and all, he could not help feeling a little resentful that he had been left completely in the dark. The feeling was banished, however, when Elrohir tugged at his hair, reclaiming his attention once more. 

He gazed down at the child and was caught in his twilight stare once more. His own eyes glistened with sudden gladness. “ _Elrohir nîn_ ,” he whispered tenderly. My Elf-knight.

Lifting the babe higher, he pressed a gentle kiss to its smooth temple. The infant Elf-knight cooed softly at him and happily nuzzled his face against his cheek in turn. Legolas felt his heart swell with joy and hope.

****************************************  
Glossary:  
Yavannië – Quenya for September  
ellith – Elf-maids  
ellyn - male Elves  
Nana – Mama  
Ada – Papa  
mell nîn – my dear  
gwanur – brother or sister though a more accurate translation would be kinsman or kinswoman  
faer – spirit

_To be continued…_


	12. XI. This Saving Grace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Elrohir seems a little precocious for his age, about six-years-old in human terms, please bear in mind that Elf-children, while slower to mature physically than human children, were swifter in the development of their minds and talents according to Prof. Tolkien.

In the years that followed, the Elven prince found the child, Elrohir, as attached to him as he was to the Elfling. In uncanny imitation of the previous worship shown the twin by Aragorn and Eldarion, Elrohir now followed Legolas around whenever the archer came to Artirion.

Only Elladan had an equal hold on the young Elf’s affections. Their twinship, though interrupted by Elrohir’s passing into the Halls of Mandos, could not be undone. The link remained intact between the brothers even up to the unique rapport they had always shared. That was to be expected, everyone agreed. The bond forged by their yearlong companionship in their mother’s womb could not be easily broken and they had always been closer to each other than was the case with other twins.

But Elrohir’s attachment to Legolas was another thing entirely. Granted that at this stage it was on the order of pure friendship. Still none could explain, not even Elrond, the deep bond that sprang up between the woodland prince and the Imladrin lordling. 

It had been thought that any memories or feelings from his past life would be late in coming and would most likely come to completion when he reached his majority. Their binding link was and always would be present but it was supposed to be subdued until the returned mate attained full maturity. Yet from the start, Elrohir was drawn to Legolas like a bee to a honey pot. Elladan put forth the supposition that it had to do with the singular intensity of the connection his twin had previously shared with the archer. 

As a babe, he was content to be cradled in the archer’s arms, oft desiring them over his own parents’ embraces. Even in the changing of his swaddling clothes or bathing or being sung to sleep, he showed a marked preference for Legolas’s ministrations, many times leaving his nurse, Almariel, to look on in bemusement.

“I wager if he could suck milk from you, he would,” Elladan smirked one day as he observed Elrohir refuse to be burped by Almáriel in favor of Legolas’s shoulder.

Legolas blushed at the gibe. It came too close to the bone not to affect him. “In one thing he will certainly not change overmuch if you are to be his example,” he tartly remarked.

“Which is?”

“Your questionable sense of humor!”

Elladan grinned. “But if you were true to yourself, O Prince, you would admit that you would dearly love to suckle him as well, milk or no!”

He barely dodged the pillow the now crimson-cheeked archer one-handedly hurled at him, prompting Nimeithel to haul him out of the nursery.

“Come, _hervenn_ , you are risking life and limb with your wicked jests,” she chided. “Leave my brother be lest you wish to taste his temper!”

Legolas, cheeks still aflame, gazed at Elrohir again. He swallowed hard as his incipient lover joyously nuzzled his tiny face against the exposed skin of Legolas’s chest where his shirt was unlaced. He could not keep his thoughts from straying to the future when Elrohir was grown once more and...

He shook his head fiercely. It was unmeet and unwise to coddle such ideas this soon. He looked down when Elrohir snortled gleefully and found the infant Elf-lord smiling up at him, hands reaching out avidly. His heart all but bursting with happiness, he lifted Elrohir to his shoulder that his little Elf-knight might curl his arms around his neck and press his sweet countenance against the archer’s face.

oOoOoOo

As Elrohir grew into boyhood, his attachment to Legolas did not wane. He was always overjoyed to see the prince; was inevitably the first to welcome him during his visits to the vale and would follow him about, his sweet comely face a picture of sheer delight at being in his friend’s company. Together with Elladan, they made a fondly regarded if amusingly uneven threesome recalling the years in Middle-earth when their triumvirate had been so complete no other Elf could come between them.

Not even Elladan’s own fun-loving twin sons could wean the re-born Elfling from the company of his dearly loved brother and deeply adored friend. Legolas, on the other hand, found his love for the younger twin deepening ever more as he experienced the rare and never to be repeated phenomenon of watching his beloved grow up. Witnessing first-hand how Elrohir had come to be the Elf-lord, warrior and lover he had known and cherished in Middle-earth only strengthened his conviction that here was the only one for him, the desire of his heart, the choice of his soul. 

In this fashion did the years roll by, the bitter mingled with the sweet, as Legolas patiently waited out his Elrohir’s childhood.

oOoOoOo

On a fair day in September a week or so before the brethren’s begetting day and, incidentally, Elrohir’s fifteenth, Legolas came to Artirion and Elrond’s halls and was greeted by Glorfindel upon his arrival. Knowing his intent, the fair-haired captain led him at once to the gardens behind the house. There they found Elladan on the back porch watching his sons and Erestor as the three discussed something by a large oak. Before either Legolas or Glorfindel could say a word, he quickly put his finger to his lips in a gesture asking for silence.

Legolas, wondering at the need for stealth, turned to look at the trio in the garden. It was then that he noticed something odd. Slowly and ever so deftly, Elendir and Elros would shift their positions relative to Erestor the result of which was that the steward all unknowingly was backing up against the tree. Legolas held his breath, instinct telling him something was about to befall the unsuspecting counsellor.

Instinct proved right as something indeed befell Erestor. Literally. As soon as he stepped directly below a low-hanging branch, a bucketful of water came sloshing down upon him. The steward yelped in shock and looked up. A small form hurtled down directly into Elendir’s outstretched arms and, without missing a beat, both of Elladan’s sons raced away, a giggling Elrohir in the older twin’s embrace. Erestor at once gave chase, shouting imprecations as he went, forgetful of the supposedly tender years of Elrond’s youngest.

The three on the porch doubled over in laughter before Glorfindel made to go after his beleaguered mate. “At least they did not use pond water this time,” he chortled before hurrying off. 

Legolas shook his head. Like their father before them, Elendir and Elros, though past their first century, were not adverse to playing a few pranks here and then on the members of their grandsire’s household. But in this case, the archer wondered if they had been the instigators of this jape or merely willing assistants.

“Poor Erestor,” he remarked with a snicker. “Just when he thought he was safe from such jests forever.”

Still chuckling, Elladan could only nod in agreement. After a spell, he caught his breath and, smiling at Legolas, said, “You are early, _gwanur_.”

Legolas could not help a slight blush. “I left Taur Galen at dawn,” he admitted.

Elladan chuckled again. “Valar, you are eager for this visit,” he teased.

“You know I always am,” Legolas pointed out, his cheeks crimsoning further.

“Aye, and I do not blame you,” the twin said soothingly. “And I would call your arrival timely. I was planning to take Elrohir to the Tirion market right after the midday meal. ‘Twill be his first visit there. Your company will gladden him even more.”

Legolas smiled with pleasure. “Then my haste was well worth it.”

His smile was even brighter much later when they made the brief trip to Tirion. They seldom rode to the elven city on the crown of Túna for it was less than an hour’s walk from neighboring Artirion. But with a youngling in their charge, the older Elves decided it would be more prudent to ride should said youngling tire before day’s end.

Elrohir’s excitement during the trip was such that he could scarcely keep quiet for more than a few minutes at any given time. It only waxed when they finally arrived at the public stables and, after tethering their steeds within, entered the bustling marketplace. The young Elf’s eyes increasingly widened as they made their way around the various stalls and down narrow streets.

In one street alone, the air was redolent with the aroma of freshly baked breads and pastries which lay cheek by jowl beside delectable sweets and freshly churned butter, golden cheese, pots of honey and jugs of milk and cream. Further on were stalls of poultry and game and produce and the morning’s catch from the Bay of Eldamar, still fresh and smelling of the salty sea. Haunches of venison, sides of wild boar and trussed up chickens, hare, pheasants and partridges hung from wicked looking butcher’s hooks. Vegetables and fruits, both wild and cultivated, were laid out in glorious profusion on wide boards and tall shelves. And the silvery bounty of the ocean gleamed in large wooden vats and atop well-scrubbed tables. Tucked in between the stalls were tiny shops that carried all manner of drink from the finest wines to the heartiest ales. 

Beyond the foods stalls were stores that carried a dizzying variety of dry goods. Cloth of every color and texture, footwear to suit every occasion, thick rope and silken cords, parchment and quills and inks, bladed instruments for the kitchen and the fields of battle, paints of all colors and every size and shape of brush imaginable, jewelry and ornaments of gold and silver and precious stones, skillfully embroidered or woven tapestries and carpets—it was nigh impossible to think of anything the market of Tirion did not provide.

Legolas and Elladan laughed as their young charge ran from one stall to another, staring raptly at everything on display. He was even more delighted when Legolas presented him with a berry tart, one of his favorite sweets, while Elladan procured cups of cool fruit nectar for all three of them. 

They eventually had the pleasure to bump into Gimli and the Hobbits who had sallied forth from their cozy house to replenish their larders; it was not surprising that there was more than one pantry in a home designed for Hobbits. Bilbo was busy selecting breakfast victuals at one stall while nearby, Sam fussily picked over mushrooms and carrots for a stew he planned to cook for their evening meal. Frodo, on the other hand, was engaged in a debate with Gimli at the meat stall, the Hobbit trying to convince the Dwarf of the merits of venison over wild boar.

Merry greetings were exchanged all around as soon as they discovered each other’s presence. Bilbo plopped down a basketful of bread, butter and cheese, beaming with satisfaction at his purchases.

“I will say this for elven markets,” he declared with a grin. “The goods aren’t overpriced, the quality is always excellent and no one tries to cheat you!”

“Not to mention that it never stinks,” Sam added with a chuckle.

“Which is more than I can say about the markets of Rohan or Gondor for that matter,” Gimli put in gruffly. “Even Aragorn could not fix that problem!”

About to bite into a toothsome cream pastry Frodo had handed him, Elrohir looked up in surprise. “You knew Elessar well, Gimli?” he queried.

Elladan swiftly replied, “But of course, _tôr neth_. Gimli was one of the Company of Nine.”

Elrohir stared at the Dwarf with even more respect. “I did not know that,” he said. “ _Ada_ mentioned a Dwarf but he did not say ‘twas you.” 

Gimli could not quite hide his displeasure at having been unwittingly left unnamed by Master Elrond after all these years. The Hobbits guffawed at his discomfiture. 

“And who else did your father forget to tell you about?” Bilbo inquired. 

Elrohir shrugged. “I know about Mithrandir and Aragorn of course. And there was another man, I think.”

“Boromir, the heir of the Steward of Gondor,” Elladan supplied.

Elrohir looked confused. “But I thought it was Faramir who served Elessar as Steward and that Boromir was his son,” he said.

“Boromir died during the Quest,” Legolas quietly explained. “And so his brother Faramir became Steward instead. He named his firstborn son after his brother.”

Elrohir shook his head. “It seems _Ada_ has been remiss in his teachings,” he said. “Though he was quite thorough about the Hobbits in the Company.” He looked at Frodo. “I should have liked to have met Merry and Pippin,” he told the Ring-bearer. “Legolas told me they were much fun to be with.”

A slightly pensive gleam flickered in the Hobbit’s eyes. “That they were,” he agreed. “And loyal and valorous besides. They were my good friends as well as my cousins.”

“You must miss them terribly,” Elrohir said sympathetically. 

“We all do,” Frodo said with a smile for the Elfling. “But we try to remember the happy times we had with them and that is often enough to comfort us.”

Elrohir frowned “I try to think of the happy times I’ve had with Legolas but I still feel sad when he goes home,” he said honestly. “Why does it not work for me?”

Frodo glanced at the Elven prince; both he and Bilbo had long been informed of Legolas’s relationship with Elrohir. The archer could not quite conceal the pleasure the child’s statement gave him. With a grin, the Hobbit turned his attention back to the waiting Elf-knight. 

“It doesn’t work all the time,” he said. “You can be so close to someone that memories are not enough to make you feel better if you aren’t with that someone.” 

Elrohir thought about it then nodded. “Aye, it isn’t enough for me,” he said. “I like being with Legolas all the time.”

He flashed a sweet, trusting smile at the archer. Legolas swallowed hard and just barely managed to stifle the impulse to sweep the child into his arms and bestow a multitude of affectionate kisses upon him. He felt a comforting hand on his arm and looked down into Gimli’s understanding eyes. He collected himself and warmly returned Elrohir’s smile.

“Well, eat your pastry,” Bilbo briskly said to the Elfling. “And come along with us. We’re going to buy apples and blueberries for pies. You should taste my pies. The very best they were in Hobbiton and that’s no empty boast!”

Elladan and Legolas watched as Elrohir happily accompanied the Hobbits and Gimli to one of the fruit stalls. At length, the twin regarded the archer musingly. Legolas was looking at Elrohir rather wistfully.

“What is wrong, _gwador_?” he asked.

Legolas turned shadowed eyes on him. “I miss my mate,” he whisperingly admitted.

Elladan looked at him with curiously veiled eyes. “Yet he is returned,” he said.

“Aye, but with no memory of our past together,” Legolas sighed. “And even the love I once felt through our bond is changed. I just realized that the last I knew it was on the dawn of his birth.” His eyes suddenly glittered. “It was so strong it awakened me that day. I have not felt it since. It is as if our binding channel has been blocked.”

Sympathy limned the Elvenlord’s gaze. “You do comprehend that it is necessary,” he said. “No child can be burdened with the feelings and desires that a binding elicits. Paticularly the desires of the body.”

“I know that,” Legolas said. “And thus I oft wonder why the Powers did not simply release him as he was when he passed away.”

Elladan shook his head. “We cannot question the Valar’s reasons for choosing this way for him,” he gently pointed out. “But even beyond that there is the value of rebirth. ‘Tis said it allows more complete healing than simple re-embodiment. The spirit is rejuvenated and the body strengthened because of the second conception and growth to majority. His eternal flame will burn more brightly and fiercely because of this.”

Legolas was silent for a space. “I cannot wish for anything less than the best for Elrohir,” he finally acceded. “If the Valar deem this the right path for him then so be it. But I am still lonely for his love, Elladan, more so now that he can no longer express it to me. Even for a single lover’s touch do I yearn so deeply that I feel no peace of heart or soul. I am like him; the memories are not always enough to assuage the longing.”

Elladan looked at him thoughtfully. “Are you so needful that you need another’s comforting?” he asked cautiously. At the archer’s startled glance at him, he said, “You are probably the most sought-after Elf in Eldamar at present.” Legolas flushed. He was all too aware of the covetous gazes that had followed him all afternoon. “And mayhap the loneliest. I would not blame you were you to seek company while you await Elrohir’s majority.” 

Legolas abruptly glared at him. “Do you think me so faithless that I would betray my vow to him?” he snapped. 

Elladan raised placating hands. “I did not mean to impugn your fidelity or integrity, Legolas,” he said. “But I am aware of the terrible burden you bear. Loneliness can drive us to do things we would otherwise not even consider. Even one as valiant as you.”

Legolas swallowed hard. “I am indeed terribly lonely,” he said somewhat bitterly. “But to couple with another for no reason other than to answer a need will be far more injurious to my heart and soul. I belong to Elrohir alone. I cannot share what is his with any other. Nor do I desire to.”

He was surprised when Elladan suddenly hugged him tightly. When the warrior drew back, there was no mistaking the relief in his countenance. “I confess I have feared for some time that you would fail in your resolve and do something you would rue evermore,” he admitted. “‘Tis not for Elrohir’s sake that I harbored anxieties, but for yours. I know you, Legolas. You would never forgive yourself for transgressing against him with another Elf. I did not want to witness your eternal self-debasement for something wrought of suffering and not true wanting.”

For a moment, the archer stared at his law-brother nonplussed. And then he understood how concerned Elladan had been about him but had skillfully hidden it so as not to further trouble him. He found himself smiling albeit wanly.

“Do not worry overmuch about me, _gwanur_ ,” he softly assured the warrior. “I am needful of love but only _his_ love. No other will suffice.” 

His smile turned luminous as he espied the Hobbits and Gimli returning. And his Elf-knight. He glanced at Elladan again, eyes sparkling with renewed vigor.

“Only his,” he repeated. And he swept Elrohir into a tender embrace as the young Elf ran up to him. 

*******************************  
Glossary:  
hervenn – husband  
Ada – Papa  
gwanur – brother or sister but a more accurate translation would be kinsman or kinswoman  
tôr neth – younger brother  
gwador – sworn brother

_To be continued…_


	13. XII. Perchance to Dream

Elrohir and Elladan celebrated their shared begetting day with a lively picnic by the cascades of Artirion, a choice very much in accordance with their predilection for informal but fellowship-filled social affairs. In attendance were family and a few select friends whose company Elrond’s family treasured. Counted among these were Gimli and the three Halflings who, as usual, made short work of the bountiful feast laid out before them; not to mention quaffed more than their share of potent Maltaurean ale of which Celeborn and Galadriel had brought a generous quantity. It was very much an intimate gathering filled with affection for the celebrants and mirth at their not unexpected antics.

It was with wonder and some amusement that many of the guests regarded the brethren. The sight of fifteen-year-old Elrohir ensconced in three-thousand-plus Elladan’s lap amazed even the older twin’s children. But how else could one react to the image of their father cuddling a younger, smaller version of himself, a unique picture of twins at widely disparate ages? 

“If anyone had told me I would behold such a wondrous thing I would have called him delusional,” Elros remarked as he lazily nestled in Lindir’s embrace. 

“You should talk,” Elendir grinned. He was munching on a juicy peach. “I imagine it must be even more strange for those who saw _Ada_ and Uncle grow up together in Imladris. Am I not right, Lindir?”

Elladan’s chief steward nodded. “I was speaking with Glorfindel and Erestor about it just this morning,” he said. “Every first sight of them never fails to startle us into speechlessness.” 

Legolas, however, found the effect quite charming and it was with great pleasure that he finally presented his gifts to the brothers. And when said gifts were led forth by his retainers, they elicited admiring gasps from just about everyone present.

To Elladan he gave a magnificent midnight-hued stallion sired by one of Thranduil’s prized studs. But for Elrohir, there was a lively silvery grey colt, brother to Elladan’s steed. Both twins were elated by their gifts but Elrohir, in his extreme youth, was more forthcoming in his display of gratitude. 

He joyously launched himself into Legolas’s arms, hugged him fervently, then demanded to mount his present at once. The prince gingerly lifted him onto the colt, which, as though recognizing its new owner, immediately ceased its restless pawing and became as gentle as a newborn lamb.

“What will you name him?” Elrond asked his youngest child with an indulgent smile.

“I am not sure,” the Elfling replied, screwing up his comely face in thought. “What do you think, Legolas?”

The archer beamed, pleased to be consulted before anyone else. Remembering Elrohir’s warhorse in Middle-earth, he suggested, “How about ‘Tinnu’?”

“The time of twilight when the stars are at their brightest,” Elladan reminded his brother, admiring the way the archer introduced the old name.

Elrohir grinned. “Tinnu,” he repeated. “Aye, that is perfect, Legolas! I knew you would think of just the right name.” He looked so worshipfully at the prince it made the latter’s heart virtually melt to mush.

“ _Ada?_ You promised me I could have anything I wished for today,” Elrohir said to Elrond.

“Within reason,” Elrond prudently allowed. There was no telling what the boy might ask for if the choices of his former life were anything to go by.

“May I go with Legolas when he returns to Taur Galen?” he wheedled. “I have not gone there yet.”

Elrond and Celebrían looked from their son to the prince, somewhat taken aback. They were even more nonplussed when Legolas did not look surprised in the least at the request.

“I presume he spoke of this to you?” Elrond commented.

Legolas nodded. “I saw no harm in acceding to his request,” he admitted. “But I told him he needed your permission first. I promise I will take good care of him.” 

He bit his lip, unsure whether they would permit him to take Elrohir with him to his father’s realm. After all, the Elfling was very young and had not ventured further from home than the shores of Eldamar.

Celebrían smiled with understanding. “We know you will take utmost care of him,” she gently answered. “And in truth, you have as much claim to him as we do,” she softly added. “Mayhap even more.”

Legolas blushed at the implied meaning behind her statement. Thankfully, Celebrían had kept her voice low enough for her words to elude Elrohir’s hearing. The archer smiled shyly at his once-and-future law-parents. Elrond was even regarding him with paternal fondness.

“I will bring him back soonest,” the prince offered.

“Nay, Legolas,” Elrond quietly demurred. “He may stay with you for as long as either of you wish.” The Elf-lord’s eyes gleamed with compassion for the prince.

Legolas’s smile grew even wider. He glanced at Elrohir who had listened to his father’s words with increasing disbelief and glee.

“As long as we wish?” he reiterated excitedly.

“Aye, _ion nîn_ ”—my son—Elrond affirmed. 

Elrohir laughed in sheer delight. “How about forever?” he teased Legolas with an impishness reminiscent of his boyhood in his first life. 

The breath caught in the archer’s throat. All innocently, Elrohir had voiced his deepest desire. “I would not mind,” he softly replied, stoically enduring the knowing looks leveled at him

Elrohir departed with him for Taur Galen two days later. Only the Elfling’s nurse, the ever-faithful Almáriel, accompanied her young charge. In choosing to allow their child to go virtually alone with Legolas, Elrond and Celebrían were making it clear to all just how much they trusted the prince. It was their subtle way of telling all Valinor that they still acknowledged and honored the binding between their child and Thranduil’s son.

For Legolas, it was a magical period and a happy one. He brought Elrohir everywhere with him. Exploring the green wood by foot or on horse, teaching him to swim in the river at the forest’s edge, even attending a few sessions in his father’s court. And he also took him hunting, a first for the Elfling.

Though all Elves were skillful hunters by nature, the Wood-elves were the acknowledged masters of the chase. Long accustomed to hunting for their sustenance in Middle-earth, they did not now abandon the practice and thrived on the even more cunning beasts of Valinor. Elrohir learned firsthand how to stalk plump pheasant, elusive buck and ill-tempered wild boar and how to evade the menacing claws of Taur Galen’s ferocious bears. In keeping with the fierce warrior he had once been and would one day again become, Elrohir loved every minute. He did Legolas proud and shocked the other hunters as he moved with almost preternatural stealth and precision, astonishing in an Elf barely removed from infancy.

One hunt, however, proved an unexpected catalyst, and marked the advent of far-reaching changes in Elrohir’s life. Later, Legolas would ponder if the Valar had willed it to happen.

The little Elf-knight’s demeanor had altered during the chase. He had looked about the forest with perplexity, his face screwing up as if trying to recall something. And then he had started when a _filet_ had swooped down upon him without warning. Legolas could have sworn he saw real fear in the child’s eyes though the latter, with typical Elrohirian pride, staunchly insisted that he was not in the least perturbed by such a small bird.

That night he had gone to bed early, tired out by the hunt. Legolas, confident of the boy’s security under Almáriel’s watchful eyes, had spent the better part of the evening in the company of his old friends, Heledir and Mithrael. It was near the midnight hour when he finally sauntered back to his home. 

He was passing down the tree-lined pathway that led to his house when he heard the unexpected sounds of whimpers and sobs. Alarmed, he followed the sounds to one of the trees and peered around it. He was dumbfounded to discover a small figure huddled on the grass, tremors wracking its slender frame.

“Elrohir!” With tender concern, Legolas swiftly knelt before the Elfling and scooped him into his arms. At once, Elrohir flung his arms around his neck and buried his tear-streaked face in his shoulder.

“What is wrong?” Legolas whispered, hugging him tightly. “Why are you out here alone? Where is Almáriel?”

“I-I do not know,” Elrohir wailed. “I woke up and she was not there.”

Legolas swore inwardly. Where was the nurse? “What frightened you?” he murmured.

“I had a b-bad dream,” Elrohir sniffled. “It was ho-horrible.”

“What did you dream of?” Legolas asked gently, stroking the silky tresses reassuringly.

“I-I was in a dark fo-forest with Elladan,” the child stammered. “We were stalking a deer when a-a scary monster with-with many legs attacked Elladan. I k-killed it but many more started to come! You arrived with other Elves to help us.” He cringed visibly in the prince’s arms. “But another beast came after me and then I-I woke up!”

Legolas felt a chill race up his spine. 'Elbereth, that was no dream,' he thought. 'That actually happened.' ‘Twas the twins’ first encounter with the spiders of Greenwood the Great! 

“Legolas?” Elrohir quavered. “What were those monsters? I have never seen anything like them before.”

“Aye, you have not,” the prince agreed. “For they do not exist in Valinor. But in Middle-earth they are called ‘spiders’.”

“Spiders?” Elrohir’s eyes widened in puzzlement. “But why did I dream of them? I have never seen any before.”

“Are you certain?” Legolas probed gently. He wanted to allay the child’s fears as much as possible. “Mayhap Elladan told you about them. He came across them in my old home of Eryn Galen.”

Elrohir looked doubtful. “I do not remember any tales about spiders,” he said. “And-and I looked strange in my dream,” he added quaveringly.

“In what way?’

“I was-I was taller... bigger. I looked a lot like Elladan but I knew it was me.” He clung to Legolas fearfully. “I am scared,” he sobbed anew. “Why did I look like that?”

“I cannot say,” Legolas carefully replied. “But do not be afraid, Elrohir. I am with you. I would never let you come to any harm, dearest one.” 

The child pulled back slightly and gazed at him, wondering at the unexpected endearment. Legolas swallowed hard. It was difficult staring into those twilight pools. They recalled too many memories of another life and a love well treasured.

But before either could speak again, Almáriel suddenly appeared, highly upset by the disappearance of her charge from his bed. Legolas rose to his feet, still holding Elrohir close in his arms. He frowned at the nurse, silently inquiring about her whereabouts.

“I am so sorry, my lord,” she gasped, flustered, correctly discerning his expression. “I stepped out for a chat with some friends. I did not think he would wake up whilst I was gone.”

“You should have informed me that he would be alone,” Legolas said severely. The nurse flushed guiltily. The prince knew he was not being entirely fair. How could anyone foresee that Elrohir would relive a past event in the form of a nightmare? But he could not be fair. Not when the matter impinged on his Elf-knight’s well being.

“It will not happen again,” Almáriel murmured, chastened. She reached out to the Elfling. “Come, Elrohir, let us return to your room.”

To their surprise, Elrohir drew back further into Legolas’s embrace and defiantly said, “I want to stay with Legolas.”

“Now, now, _hirneth_ ”—lordling— Almáriel crooned soothingly. “You cannot stay with his Highness.” 

“But I want to!” Elrohir insisted. He looked pleadingly at Legolas. “Can I not stay with you?”

Before the prince could answer, Almáriel intervened. “Nay, Elrohir, ‘tis not right. Prince Legolas may not want your presence in his chambers tonight.”

“Why not?” Elrohir shot back, mouth pouting mutinously. It was all Legolas could do not to laugh.

“Well, because— because—” Almáriel floundered for a good reason. Alarmed at the dawning triumph in her impudent charge’s countenance, she uttered the first thing she could think of that made any sense. “Well, His Highness may have other company tonight!”

The Elfling’s eyes rounded so alarmingly that Legolas flicked a reproving glare at Almáriel who in turn wilted visibly. She should have known better than to upset Elrohir before the prince and with such an absurd and altogether impossible suggestion at that.

“Other company?” Elrohir repeated tremulously. “You mean like Elladan and Nimeithel?”

Legolas drew his breath in sharply. So young yet so aware of such matters, he thought. He felt the child’s gaze on him before it turned back to Almáriel. All unexpectedly, he bawled, “But-but Legolas is mine!”

Both prince and nurse gaped at him. Swimming grey eyes met the archer’s azure gaze. 

Elrohir sniffed. “You-you don’t have someone waiting for you, do you?” he whimpered.

Legolas let a slow breath out. He regarded Elrohir with solemn tenderness. “Nay, dearest, there is no one,” he softly assured him. “Of course, you may stay with me tonight. And any other night that you should need me,” he added decisively. 

“But, _hir nîn_ —!” My lord.

A severe stare quelled the nurse’s protests. Elrohir’s face brightened up considerably now that his champion had come down squarely on his side. “You are mine, aren’t you,” he reiterated, more confident than ever of his place with the prince.

The blue eyes softened immeasurably. “Aye, Elrohir, I am yours,” Legolas agreed with a tender smile.

He heard Almáriel’s shocked intake of breath; knew what she would make of his words. But he did not particularly care. Elrohir, tears forgotten, turned a victorious beaming countenance upon his beleaguered nurse.

“He is mine!” he smugly informed her then buried his face securely in the archer’s neck.

The prince spared the stunned _elleth_ a belated sympathetic glance before walking to the house, Elrohir snug in the circle of his arms.

That night, he barely slept a wink. It felt so much more restful to his mind and heart to simply lie in bed, Elrohir sheltered in the curve of his body, happily cocooned in his protective embrace. Besides, his thoughts were in a whirl as he reviewed the series of coincidences that had occurred from the minute he’d found Elrohir to the moment he carried him into his room. 

The Elfling had studied his bedchamber with wide-eyed fascination. He’d then turned to look at the archer and remarked, “I’ve never been here before.”

“Well, you never had a reason before,” Legolas smiled.

The child then beamed and smugly proclaimed, “I do now!” 

That had stunned Legolas. It was eerily alike to the exchange he’d had with Elrohir that fateful night in Ithilien. The night the Elf-knight had seduced him anew. As with the nightmare about the spiders of Greenwood, was this also a part of the twin’s awakening memories?

Elrohir had distracted him with another declaration. “Your bedchamber is so big,” he observed. “There’s enough room for two Elves. Why are you alone, Legolas?”

The prince chuckled, amused by the child’s insight. “I thought you did not want me to share my room with anyone,” he reminded the Elfling.

“I do not,” Elrohir agreed vigorously. “Unless ‘tis with me!”

Legolas heaved a sigh at his Elf-knight’s all too precocious pronouncements. Small wonder Elrond and Celebrían oft spoke of the twins’ childhood years with mixed parental pride and befuddled exasperation. If Elrohir’s current statements were any indication of what used to spill out of the brethren’s mouths when they were babes, then their beleaguered parents had Legolas’s heartiest if belated sympathy. 

The Elfling then refused to let him out of his sight even for a minute lest the dreaded spiders appeared out of the blue and attacked him. Not even to shed his clothing for nightwear did Elrohir give him leave to go into his bathing chamber. So he undressed as swiftly as he could and slipped into a loose bed-shirt and trousers under the wide-eyed gaze of Elrohir. When he settled beside the young Elf, the latter regarded him with considerable awe.

“You are beautiful!” he pronounced with innocent admiration. “Even more than Elladan, I think!” 

Legolas had found himself caught between amusement at the childish observation that was wrought at the expense of the older twin and mingled pride and amazement that Elrohir should be cognizant of such things at so young an age. It certainly recalled the twin’s carnal appetite in his first life. 

Legolas drew a deep breath. 'Just five and thirty more years before I can reclaim you,' he mused, gazing raptly at the now slumbering child. 

The passage of time oft flowed swiftly for those of Elf-kind and thirty-five years was but a drop in the ocean of eternity. But for one who so desperately yearned for his reward at the end of that period, it seemed as sluggish as the creeping magma that had once poured forth from the molten core of Orodruin. 

*****************************  
Glossary:  
Ada - Papa  
elleth - Elf-maid 

_To be continued…_


	14. XIII. The Slow Road

Eldamar, F.A. 172  
Roaming lips marked his fair skin. Knowing hands mapped his lean frame.

_Calenlass nîn._

He moaned as he was filled; cried out as he was delved repeatedly. 

_Melethron._

His aching length was clasped and stroked until finally he spent himself in an explosion of exquisite sensation. 

Legolas jerked awake, gasping raggedly in the wake of so rousing a dream. Elbereth! Why did he have to dream thus and so often? He groaned in frustration. He threw aside the covers, got out of bed and snatched up the now soiled sheet angrily. 

It was more than a dozen years since he had last shared his bed with the young Elf-knight. When Elrohir had passed his first two decades, Legolas had realized it was unwise to continue being in such close and intimate proximity to him. Elrohir had been precocious in his previous childhood; that precociousness had not changed with his return from the timeless halls. Even Elladan had agreed that it was no longer proper for his brother to sleep in the archer’s bed. 

Legolas sighed. He could still recall how upset Elrohir’s nurse Almáriel had been when he first took her charge into his night’s keeping. He could not blame her. 

The last time in Valinor’s history that Elves had borne witness to their spouses growing up from infancy into adulthood was after the kinslayings. Since then, there had been no further deaths amongst _Edhil_ in the Blessed Realm. It was the Firstborn of Middle-earth who had filled the Halls of Awaiting all these long ages. And since those who were adjudged worthy of release were reborn long before the arrival of their mates on the shores of Aman, there had been no recent instances of a surviving spouse waiting out the growth and return of memories of his or her mate. Legolas and Elrohir’s situation was therefore unique in the present age. 

Small wonder that their closeness was viewed with confusion and some unease by some quarters. Even when it had become clear that Legolas had no intention of flouting custom and pressuring the Elf-knight into recalling all of his past, many still regarded the relationship between the archer and his swiftly maturing binding-mate with discomfort. 

It had been permissible when Elrohir had been but a child. But what had once been a wholly innocent intimacy could now turn into something else and, reborn or not, the younger twin was still in his minority and therefore not to be touched in that manner even by his own spouse. 

This stricture had burdened Legolas’s already troubled heart. It had been hard to give up the comfort of having Elrohir so close by. Loneliness had closed in on him in full measure once more when he’d ceased to allow his Elf-knight into bed with him. His dreams had begun about then. 

Legolas replaced the stained sheet with a fresh one, stripped off his damp nightclothes, then clambered back into bed. What his servants would make of the soiled items in the morning was no longer of import. They’d seen evidence of his nocturnal problem frequently enough in the past several years to have gotten used to it. And all members of his staff in Ithilien, they were loyal, discreet and sympathetic and spoke not a word of his distress to anyone outside of his immediate household, not even to his family.

Before he drifted back into slumber, one consoling thought occurred to him. He was visiting Artirion the following day. He would be with Elrohir once more. The thought soothed his lonely soul and, this time, when he slept, his dreams were of a more chaste nature.

oOoOoOo

As he rode down the wide path into the vale of Artirion, Legolas pondered the recollections that had disrupted Elrohir’s life in the past several years. Since experiencing the nightmare about the spiders of Greenwood the Great, the young Elf-knight had been bedeviled by dreams and visions of places and events in Middle-earth.

Golden-leafed, silver-barked trees east of the Great Sea. A multileveled city cradled by a mountain and before it, on a vast plain, an enormous army replete with siege machines. His mother’s torment at the hands of bestial creatures. A dark, close forest where Elves battled more of the many-legged monsters that had so frightened him. But most of all, a river bordered, pine-scented valley to the west of a towering mist-covered mountain range.

Rather than frighten him with the revelation of his death and rebirth, his loved ones had allayed his confusion with the explanation that his visions came of the influence of the tales told him of the Hither Lands. After all, he was a scion of a family fulsomely gifted in the mind-arts. It was possible he had inadvertently picked up on others’ thoughts and emotions.

Elrohir had accepted the explanation initially, trusting in his elders’ wisdom and recognizing their concern for him. But in the last three years he had stopped being so accepting and had started to question the significance of his dreams. Were they only the reflections of others’ imaginings? 

It had been a difficult period for everyone. How to satisfy the Elf-knight’s curiosity without prematurely subjecting him to the inevitable trauma of learning the truth? They had been forced to resort to dissimulation and evasion in order to spare him just a little longer.

Legolas came out of his reverie as his steed cantered up to the arched entrance of the courtyard of Elrond’s halls. He smiled as he espied the young Elf racing out to meet him as he rode into the large and circular stone-paved space. Elrohir never failed to be the first to welcome him to his father’s halls. 

But he was soon shocked when he noted the pallor of the youth’s face as he neared. And when Elrohir flew into his arms as soon as he dismounted and buried his face in his chest, he knew something was definitely wrong. 

Before he could question the lad, he saw Elladan approaching as well. The older twin looked as pale as his brother.

Elrohir raised a troubled countenance and blurted out, “Legolas, I-I am one of the reborn!”

The stunned archer stared at him then up at Elladan. The twin nodded in acknowledgement of the prince’s silent query.

“We had to tell him,” he explained. “He remembered the night we declared our choice.”

Legolas drew in his breath slowly. “Ah, dearest one, I can see why you are upset,” he addressed Elrohir.

“Elladan and I were – are twins,” Elrohir whispered. “I had always wondered why others regarded us so strangely but now I understand.” He swallowed hard. “All my dreams and visions— they make sense now. I was not imagining them but remembering my-my past life.”

He looked up at Legolas, shaking visibly. “They refuse to tell me how I-how I died,” he gulped. “Can you tell me?”

Legolas paled. “Nay, Elrohir, I cannot,” he said almost hoarsely. He closed his eyes of a sudden, the memory of that grief-drenched morn looming with acute vividness in his mind.

“Legolas?” Elrohir gazed at him in alarm. “What is wrong?”

“Legolas and I were present at your passing,” Elladan said abruptly. “It pains us overmuch to even think of it much less speak of it. Please, _gwanneth_ , let it come to you at the right time.”

Elrohir looked from his brother to the prince, his eyes now frightened. “But what if I remember it when I am alone?” he whispered.

Legolas felt a chill snake its way up his spine. He looked across at Elladan. The older twin had also flinched inwardly at his brother’s expressed fear. 

No wonder Elrohir was so upset. The two he most trusted, with whom he felt most secure, did not live in his father’s house. Legolas dwelt in Taur Galen while Elladan and Nimeithel resided in a neighboring domicile. Close by but still separate.

Legolas swiftly made up his mind. Elladan had a family. It would be difficult for him to uproot his household and move back into Elrond’s halls. But Legolas was beholden to no one in Taur Galen. And it was near enough to visit any time should the necessity arise. 

“If your parents permit it, I will dwell in Artirion until you recall that event,” he softly offered. 

Elrohir gasped then gazed at him in elation. “Will you truly?” he implored.

“I must ask your father’s leave first,” Legolas said. 

Elladan smiled gratefully at the prince. “I do not see a problem with your suggestion, _gwanur_ ”—brother—he said. “You are kin and welcome any time and for as long as you desire. And ‘tis not as if you will share the same bedchamber after all.”

Legolas sighed and nodded his acknowledgement of the subtle reminder. Meanwhile, Elrohir beamed with patent relief at both of them. 

“I will tell _Ada_ that ‘twas I who asked this of you,” he decided. “He will not refuse me.” His confidence elicited smiles from his brother and the archer. 

When the young Elf shook anew in his embrace, Legolas asked with concern, “What is it?”

Elrohir bit his lip and lifted glistening eyes to him. “I also remembered what happened to Arwen,” he said. “And that Elessar—was Estel.”

Legolas went still as did Elladan. The older twin sighed and placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, squeezing it consolingly. 

“Come, let us walk to the cascades,” he suggested. “Just the three of us. You can tell Legolas what else you remembered.”

Elrohir nodded then suddenly started. “The three of us,” he repeated. “That was the way of it for us, wasn’t it? In Imladris and Mirkwood when it was still Eryn Galen.” He stared at the archer. “You were our best friend, Legolas!” 

Legolas shared a quick look with Elladan. The older twin nodded and said, “Aye, he was. And he still is.”

Elrohir glanced at his brother then turned his eyes back to Legolas. “I understand now,” he whispered. “‘Tis no wonder I feel I can trust you in anything.” 

He pressed his face against the base of the prince’s neck, innocently nuzzling the slight hollow therein in his need for comfort and affection.

Legolas just barely managed to quell the quiver in his body at the intimate contact. It was so hard not to declare outright that friendship was not the only thing he and the younger twin had shared. Elrohir in his thirty-third year already possessed the comeliness Legolas had found so utterly irresistible. 

Though still a child on the cusp of adolescence, the Elf-knight was the very image of beauty, grace and agility. Not for him the awkwardness and uncertainty of early youth but a fluidity and confidence beyond his years. 

Suddenly, Legolas comprehended how the twins had come by their reputation as virtuosos of the martial and carnal arts back in Middle-earth so early in their lives. The self-assurance with which they had met life head on had virtually ensured that they would master just about anything they put their minds to and do it swiftly, too. 

Even now he beckons to me, Legolas thought in mingled awe and apprehension. The temptation to compel the twin to lift his face and meet his lips in a plundering caress was almost overwhelming. His eyes met Elladan’s once more. 

The warrior instantly perceived his turmoil, saw the barely veiled desire in the sapphire pools. Understanding his friend’s dilemma, he swiftly moved to break the spell his brother had unknowingly cast upon the prince.

“Come, _muindor_ ”—brother—he softly invited, gently disengaging his twin from the archer. “Let us walk to the cascades together.”

Elrohir nodded and turned to his brother, missing the look of relief on Legolas’s face. 

The three of them made their way into the forest and headed for the falls. There they settled themselves beneath the beeches and the younger twin related to the prince what had befallen him in the previous week. Of the dreams that had unlocked yet another door in the myriad passages of his fragmented recollections. 

The arrival of the Ring in Rivendell and the forging of the Fellowship. 

The dreadful journey through the Paths of the Dead and the fierce battles on the Pelennor Fields and before the Black Gate of Mordor. 

The joyful wedding of Elessar and the Evenstar followed by his and Elladan’s choice to be of Elvenkind. 

Eldarion’s birth in Minas Tirith and glimpses of his nephew’s childhood years. 

Finally, he spoke of his memories of the sister he and Elladan had lost to love and the foster-brother he had cherished despite his mortality. Of watching the latter pass away and witnessing the fading of the former though she had refused to let her brothers remain with her to the end. So woebegone was his countenance when he finished that Legolas forgot his physical yearnings and drew him into his arms simply to give him solace. 

“She-she is gone,” Elrohir choked mournfully. “And Estel, too.” He trembled in the prince’s arms. “We will never see them again.”

Legolas stroked his dark head soothingly. “The spirits of Men leave the circles of the world upon their passing,” he quietly said. “Only Manwë and Námo know where they abide. But ‘tis said they join Eru the One and that we shall all be gathered together again at the ending of the world.”

“What about Eldarion? Does-does he still live?” The question was asked fearfully.

Elladan reached out and rubbed his back comfortingly. Like his father, Aragorn, Eldarion had worshipped Elrohir in his youth. “He is of the _Edain_ and also of our line, and therefore even more long-lived than Estel. ‘Tis most likely that he still reigns in Gondor.”

“I hope so,” the boy whispered. He burrowed further into the prince’s embrace, seeking the warmth and security of their eternal friendship. 

Legolas swallowed hard, once more feeling the treacherous desire rise up within him. But he could not deny Elrohir his comfort now. Shaking his head imperceptibly at Elladan’s silent offer to extricate him again from Elrohir’s tempting proximity, he stifled his passion and continued to hold the young Elf close. And when grateful twilight eyes lifted up to him, he found some measure of comfort and peace for himself. 

***********************************  
Glossary:  
Calenlass nîn – my Greenleaf  
melethron – lover  
gwanneth – younger twin  
Ada - Papa  
gwanur - brother or sister but a more accurate tranlastion would be kinsman or kisnwoman

_To be continued…_


	15. XIV. Passages

Tirion, F.A. 179  
The sounds of strife seemed strangely incongruous in the supposed everlasting peace of Aman. But in truth, such sounds were familiar and of no great import to the citizens of Tirion so long as they emanated from the wide public exercise court on the outskirts of the city.

Though war did not stain the Blessed Realm, the Elves who made the journey from Middle-earth did not forsake the arts of warfare they had so assiduously cultivated in the Hinter Lands. Millennia of life without certitude had ingrained in them the need to be prepared. Who knew if another Dark Lord might rise to mar the peace of Valinor? And discord could never be completely eradicated, not even in Aman.

To this opinion, the sons of Elrond wholeheartedly subscribed. Elladan had continued to maintain his hard-won, much admired skills whilst Elrohir had plunged eagerly into the lessons that would help him regain the form and talents that had made him such a fearsome foe in his former life.

An enthusiastic student of all manner of combat and weaponry, he swiftly developed the warrior’s frame Legolas had admired and once knew so intimately. It would only take the honing full maturity would bestow to wholly bring him to the sleek, muscular form that inspired covetousness in male and female Elves alike.

The brethren did not make it their habit to draw attention to themselves. Most of the time, they chose to train in the drill yard beside the barracks of Artirion. But every once in a while, they took to the exercise court of Tirion because of the opportunity to spar with Elves other than Glorfindel’s warriors. Today was one of those days.

Elladan had taken his younger brother and sons to the court early to avoid the crowds of non-combatants that tended to congregate whenever they showed up. In recent years, fascination with the Peredhil had increased in direct proportion to the number of the latest arrivals from the Hither Lands. The Elves who had made the journey west from Elrond’s time up to the last of the Imladrins’ advent had tended to be reticent about the family’s part in the events that had shaken Middle-earth. But the later comers were not. 

All Sindar or Silvan, they had sought a means to establish themselves as equals of the resident Eldar of Valinor. In the Peredhil they found their champions; worthy examples of the valour and glory of those who had not seen the Two Trees yet lived and served to the fullest of their admirable abilities. Thus, detailed tales of Elrond and his sons’ exploits had begun to circulate in Elvenhome at last—with predictable results. Whatever prejudices some Elves may have harbored against them slowly diminished until they were all but negligible. And admiration swiftly grew. As well as interest in the re-born Elf-knight.

Elrond and Elladan were wed, Elros long betrothed and Elendir lately seen in constant company with one comely Noldorin maiden; there was talk of another betrothal in the air. But Elrohir was free and just ten years short of his coming-of-age. 

True, he was bound to Taur Galen’s prince. But until he regained all his memories, he was, for all intents and purposes, available. As was the custom of the Firstborn, he was allowed to rediscover his past at his own pace and in his own time. And he would be permitted to relive his earlier years as he had passed through those same years in Middle-earth. If that included learning all over again the nuances of courtship and intimate relationships, that was permissible. For so long as he did not recall his binding, it would not be considered a transgression against his mate.

In effect, all his oaths, marital and otherwise, would be held in suspension until the time when his spirit remembered them. Until then, he would not be held culpable for any vow breaking he might commit. This was the proverbial thorn in Legolas’s side. 

Ideally, a re-born Elf regained most if not all of his memories by his majority but this was by no means an ironclad occurrence. Some memories could emerge well beyond the fiftieth year. There simply were no guarantees of what or when recollections would surface. But the archer was not allowed by custom or ethics to remind Elrohir of their love or espousal. That would place unwarranted pressure on the younger twin. Yet he would be forced to grant his mate the freedom to explore his world, to go through his paces all over again—even it that meant enduring the pain of watching him share himself with others once he reached his majority.

He oft wondered how the Elves of times past had borne that hurt. But then again, the Elves of times past had not been as libidinous as the twins had been in their carefree youth. He doubted any Elf in the centuries after the kinslayings had endured what he would undoubtedly go through. At least, not in such woeful abundance. It was something he had yet to learn to steel himself against. 

He was present this morn at the court as was Gimli. The Dwarf enjoyed employing his axe in martial practice now and then. Not for him the retirement from the battle-readiness of a veteran warrior. Valinor had rejuvenated him and he was always ready to wield his considerable skills in the name of keeping his edge. Not to mention show some snooty Elves a thing or two about the perils of facing a dwarven axe.

Legolas, too, had taken to the field, finding it all too easy to gain sparring partners amongst his many unwanted admirers. Avoiding those who dared to press their suits, he chose Elves who did not cross the line from simple appreciation into outright aggression. But now he was done and he joined Gimli on the court’s perimeter to observe and comment on others’ performances. 

“The re-born Peredhel is beautiful.”

Legolas stiffened slightly at the admiring utterance from behind him tinged as it was with the slightest bit of lewdness. At his side, Gimli took a quick look backwards then glanced up at him with concern. A young Noldo had made the comment to a warrior maid formerly of Lindon. She answered him in like strains.

“He will be even more beautiful when he attains his maturity. Not to mention talented.”

A suggestive snicker answered her comment. “Ah, I take it you have some experience of it?”

“Aye.”

“I have heard tales of the brethren. Surely they are exaggerated?” 

“I should say not! Ask any of the Galadhrim for their opinions. I assure you, the tales are true.”

“Then let us pray his memories of his time with our golden prince will be late in returning!”

“Nay, I would pray they never return at all!”

Frigid with fury, Legolas slowly turned around and leveled his gaze on the errant Elves. Caught in the middle of lubricious laughter, the two sensed his glacial regard; they flinched with some alarm. The glitter in Legolas’s eyes told them he would not forget them and that he was most capable of wreaking havoc on them if they dared to act on their unsaid intentions. They hastily moved away.

Legolas felt Gimli’s hand on his arm. “Do not let them trouble you,” the Dwarf counselled. “I am quite certain naught will come of their desires.”

Legolas trembled angrily as he watched the two Elves leave. “You did not know Elrohir in his first youth,” he said tightly. 

“Nay, but I know him now,” Gimli quipped.

The prince turned a puzzled gaze on his friend. “What bearing does that have on this?”

“Only that he esteems you so highly, I believe he would inhibit himself rather than settle for less.”

“Less than what?” Legolas asked in surprise.

Gimli chuckled. “Only a blind Elf or a bird-wit would not mark how much you are sought by half the unbound Elves of Eldamar,” he pointed out. “And for good reason. I would not be surprised should Elrohir’s idea of perfection be your very self, my friend. Think you he would care for anything less than perfection having been exposed to it since infancy?”

Legolas caught his breath. Suddenly he remembered his Elf-knight’s oft-repeated words to him. _You are the closest thing to perfection I have ever known._ For the longest while, Legolas stared at the Dwarf. And then he smiled, the sweetness of it making even Gimli’s gruff soul melt somewhat.

“You are indeed a blessing, dear Gimli,” the archer said softly. “Though I cannot trust that all will turn out to my liking, your words comfort me nevertheless.”

This time Gimli grinned with pleasure. “I did make a promise to him,” he said. He ambled away to watch an interesting wrestling match on the far end of the court. 

Legolas’s smile did not fade as he turned his attention back to Elrohir. His eyes gleamed with pride when he realized the twin was engaged in knife-play with a young Tirion Elf. His every movement bespoke the disciplined grace of a true warrior, the fluidity and swiftness of his strokes and turns evincing a rapidly emerging mastery that was inborn and not merely learned.

As oft happened in these instances, Legolas found himself responding to Elrohir’s allure. Such was the Elf-knight’s hold on his affections and desire that he could not help but yearn for their intimacy of yore. Getting a hold of himself, Legolas tamped down on his desirous reactions to the younger twin and staunchly reminded himself that he had to wait just a few more seasons. Nevertheless, it was hard going when Elrohir continued to grow in beauty, wisdom and skill.

He glanced to his side when an Elf brushed against him. Suggestively so. Legolas gritted his teeth. It was not the first time that someone had dared to flirt so egregiously with him. But he disliked it just the same. He had always been reserved and selective in such matters before Elrohir won his heart. It had never been his way to be forward whether he was doing the wooing or not. 

When the Elf repeated the action, he scowled and turned to give him a piece of his mind. But before he could say a word, a knife sped past between him and his amorous stalker to embed itself in the tree behind them. The other Elf stared at it in shock then jerked his head about in time to see Elrohir stride up to them.

The Elf-knight’s lips were turned up in a smile but his eyes did not reflect it. He wordlessly yanked his knife out of the tree trunk then glanced at the would-be interloper. 

“I believe Prince Legolas desires to be left alone,” he coolly said. He slammed his knife back into its sheath. 

The Elf paled and, with a stammered apology, retreated. Legolas noted with a grin that others who had intended to approach him were now having second thoughts about doing so. He became aware of Elrohir’s scrutiny and looked at the darkling lord.

“I trust you are pleased to be rid of him?” Elrohir mildly remarked.

Legolas nodded, smiling. “In this you have not changed, Elrohir,” he commented.

“How so?”

Legolas chuckled softly. “You were never one for diplomacy if you could achieve your desire by a more direct path,” he answered. At the incipient frown on the other’s face, he added affectionately: “And I am more than glad of it.”

The frown vanished to be supplanted by a smile. “It pleases me to help you, Legolas,” he softly said. “In any way I can.”

With that, he returned to his amazed sparring partner leaving Legolas to wonder how it was possible to love him even more than he did already.

oOoOoOo

The unexpected happened that very night. Legolas had just emerged from his bath and was donning a pair of night-trousers when he heard the cry of fear and confusion in his mind.

Alarmed, the prince threw on a bed-robe and raced to Elrohir’s room. Entering hurriedly, he found the Elf-knight, already dressed for bed, half-hunched over his writing table, hugging himself as if he were in pain. A bottle of ink had fallen to the floor along with several sheets of parchment.

“Elrohir!” he exclaimed, hastening to the young Elf. “What ails you?”

Elrohir stumbled to his feet and reached out trembling hands to the prince, his eyes wide with shock and terror. 

“It was Gilwen!” he gasped. “‘Twas she who killed me!” 

Legolas stared at him before catching him when he crumpled against him, his entire body shaking violently as he relived the tumult of his passing. Bewilderment compounded his terrible distress. He lowered Elrohir to the floor and knelt by him, holding him tightly.

Elrohir was panting in panic. “I remember the house in Osgiliath. We were about to leave when she offered us wine.” He shuddered. “There was pain! Like fire rushing through my veins. And my head was spinning. Elladan said something to her—I cannot recall what—but he said she had poisoned me.” He put his hand to his suddenly throbbing head. 

“I do not understand,” he moaned. “Why did it poison me? ‘Twas only mandrake that she put in my wine if I recall it aright.”

“You are not mistaken,” Legolas said, stroking the younger twin’s dark hair. “‘Twas only mandrake but it poisoned you because you—“

He abruptly halted. He could not inflict that piece of information on Elrohir. He said instead, “Mayhap it had been brewed wrong.”

“Nay,” Elrohir protested, shaking his head. “I can remember its aftertaste. There was nothing wrong with it. It should not have killed me yet it did.” 

Legolas stared at him in some awe. His grief had been too overwhelming at the time to wonder at it, but now he could fully appreciate this particular talent of his mate. He supposed it was not strange that Elrohir had recognized the flavor of the aphrodisiac even if masked by the wine. As Elrond’s son, he would have been trained to identify virtually every herb and potion and medicament known to Elfdom by sight, taste, scent or texture. 

He realized Elrohir was peering suspiciously at him. “That was not what you were going to say,” the twin said. “What are you hiding from me, Legolas?”

“‘Twas only a conjecture,” Legolas smoothly evaded. “What else do you recall?” he queried, neatly leading Elrohir away from the subject.

Elrohir closed his eyes tightly, as if to shut out the images of that ordeal. “She ran to the wall. Elendir chased after her.” His eyes snapped open filled with horror. “Valar! She threw herself into Anduin!”

“Aye, she killed herself,” Legolas grimly confirmed. “Out of guilt and despair, no doubt.”

“She-she loved me.”

“Beyond sanity or rectitude.”

“Elladan and the twins took me away. To you.”

“‘Twas your wish.”

Elrohir glanced up at Legolas. The blue eyes had never looked so intense.

“You were grieving over me,” the younger twin whispered. “You begged me not to leave you.”

“I did,” Legolas quietly admitted. 

Elrohir’s eyes glistened. “I made Gimli promise to take care of you for me.”

“And he kept his oath.” 

Elrohir shuddered once more. He nestled his head against Legolas shoulder. “If you had not been here...” he whispered. After a moment, he lifted his head and looked at the archer curiously. “How did you know that I needed you?” he queried.

Legolas hesitated. He could not tell Elrohir of their bond. It was quite obvious that the Elf-knight still recalled nothing of it and had not even been aware that he had called to Legolas through it. 

“I did not. I was only going to see if you wished to take a walk with me before we slept,” he said, hoping the other Elf would not question him further.

Elrohir sighed and leaned against him once more. “Thank Eru you did,” he murmured. “Please, do not leave me alone tonight. If I should dream of this...”

Legolas shook his head. “I will stay with you until you sleep,” he said. “But after, I must inform your parents and Elladan of this.”

Elrohir frowned but acceded. He rose to his feet and allowed Legolas to guide him to his bed and tuck him in. The archer stayed by him, cradling him in his arms until at last he drifted off into slumber. Legolas gazed at him longingly. When Elrohir was fast asleep, he dared to press a gentle kiss to his temple before slipping out of the room to tell the others what had happened. 

_To be continued…_


	16. XV. Love's Labor

“It is indeed fortunate you were nearby when he recalled his passing,” Gandalf commented.

Legolas nodded somberly, his eyes never leaving Elrohir as the latter spoke with his parents.

It was the afternoon after the Elf-knight’s harrowing recollection of his death in Middle-earth. He had been so disturbed by the memory that he had kept to his room with only Elladan and Legolas for company. Not even to his parents could he bring himself to speak of his experience so soon. 

That was not surprising. It was not the first time a re-born Elf had been shaken to the core of his or her being by such a memory. It would not be the last. And so Celebrían simply arranged for their meals to be sent to the younger twin’s chamber while Elrond prepared a mild sleeping draught to ensure peaceful slumber for his son for the coming night.

Elrohir finally emerged from his room that afternoon and appeared in the Hall of Fire, flanked by his brother and best friend. Ensconced in the hearthside couch, Elrond and Celebrían had been entertaining a visiting Mithrandir who sat in the chair opposite them.

Nimeithel and her sons were settled in one corner—the woodland princess absorbed in a book on herb lore while Elendir and Elros indulged in a four-way game of Realms with Lindir and Glorfindel. Erestor, on the other hand, had taken advantage of the lull in his full day and was dozing in the cozy armchair behind them.

As soon as Celebrían clapped her eyes on her younger son, she opened her warm arms to him. Eyes stinging with unshed tears, Elrohir hastened into them. Elladan and Legolas watched in relief as he nestled trustingly in his mother’s embrace while he related to his father all that he had gone through the night before. Elrond listened intently, clasping Elrohir’s hands comfortingly in his own. 

After a while, Elladan had excused himself and joined his family. But Gandalf had risen and taken his place at Legolas’s side. He now regarded the prince with some concern.

“Are you all right, Legolas?” he gently inquired. “You seem quite disheartened.” 

Legolas sighed. “‘Tis only that this marks the end of my stay in Artirion,” he explained. “I promised him I would dwell here until he recalled that moment. Now that he has...” He bit his lip. “I will miss being with him every day.” 

“‘Tis the closest you have felt to being his mate again,” Gandalf softly observed. 

Legolas drew a pensive breath. “I will be alone again, Mithrandir.”

“I have heard tales of the many who extol your graces,” Gandalf remarked. “Have you ever thought to assuage your loneliness through them?”

Legolas frowned. “I cannot,” he said.

“Elrohir would not fault you.”

Legolas smiled faintly, remembering his Twilight’s avowal of unconditional love. “He would not,” he agreed. “But I do not desire another. I would only wound myself further were I to take another to our bed for mere release. The guilt and loathing after...” He shook his head vehemently. “With what little strength I possess, I would rather await my Elf-knight’s full return than compromise myself so basely.”

Gandalf smiled back at him. “You have more strength than you think, Legolas,” he told the archer. “Elrohir will love you ever more deeply when the time comes.” The Istar suddenly chuckled mischievously. “I pray you will manage to survive it!”

Legolas found himself blushing at his old friend’s unexpected suggestive jest but he grinned with pleasure nonetheless.

oOoOoOo

The eve of his departure, Elrohir came to his room to help him finish packing his things. The young warrior looked positively morose and when he sat himself silently on the bedside divan, there was no mistaking his unhappiness.

Legolas came to sit beside him. “Elrohir, what is wrong?” he murmured, taking the other’s hands into his own.

Elrohir pursed his lips in displeasure. “I only wish you did not have to leave,” he said. “I will miss you terribly.”

Though he heartily agreed with Elrohir’s sentiments, Legolas tried to be encouraging. “I will visit you as often as my duties allow. And you will always be welcome in Taur Galen and for as long as you desire.”

“But it is not the same as having you live in the same house as I,” Elrohir pointed out. He suddenly swallowed hard. “I am sorry. I have no right to burden you so when I imagine you must be anxious to return home.” 

He looked away, his mouth tightening further to still its trembling. Legolas reached out and cupped his chin; he compelled the Elf-knight to return his gaze.

“Nay, I am not anxious at all,” Legolas said softly. “I, too, will miss seeing you every day, Elrohir. If not for duty, I would stay on for as long as you desire. But seven years is far more than my father can spare me. Until my brothers join us, I am all he has of his children.”

Elrohir swallowed again then nodded in resignation. “I know, Legolas,” he whispered. 

His woebegone expression nearly broke the archer’s heart. On impulse, he drew Elrohir into the curve of his arm and let the darkling Elf lean his head on his shoulder. 

To his surprise, Elrohir stiffened then pulled away, his eyes riveted on Legolas’s right hand. The archer glanced down then caught his breath in dismay. There on his index finger was the object that had snared Elrohir’s attention. His binding-ring. 

Legolas was disconcerted by his carelessness. Since Elrohir had grown old enough to be aware of the marital traditions of Elvenkind, he had prudently refrained from wearing his binding ring when the Elf-knight was present. But this evening, as he had readied his things for packing, he had absent-mindedly put in on and neglected to remove it when Elrohir entered his room. 

“Legolas?” the Elf-knight hesitantly said. He fingered the gold band on the archer’s right index finger. “Is this–? Are you— wed?”

Legolas drew in a steadying breath. “Nay, not wed but— bound,” he clarified. 

Elrohir’s eyes widened. “Bound?” he choked. “To another _ellon_?”—male Elf. At the prince’s hesitant nod, he shook his head a little disbelievingly. “The speed of my recovery leaves much to be desired if I have not yet remembered such a momentous change in your life,” he wryly commented. “I pray I shall regain wholeness ere much longer.” 

Legolas nearly gaped at him, so startled was he by this evidence that Elrohir remembered the old proscription in Greenwood of the ancient path. 

“‘Tis my prayer as well,” he replied with heartfelt agreement

Elrohir frowned. Somehow, he felt uneasy knowing the prince had a mate though he could not pinpoint the reason for his discomfort. He took up Legolas’s right hand, thumbing the gold ring.

“It is alike to Nimeithel’s wedding band. How is it that you bear a ring exactly like the one Elladan bestowed upon your sister?” he asked.

Legolas felt a twinge of alarm singe his nerves. “What did Elladan tell you about Nimeithel’s ring?” he countered.

Elrohir shook his head. “Nothing,” he admitted. “I assumed it was an heirloom of our house but now...” He stared at the band on Legolas’s finger again, confusion shadowing his eyes.

Legolas thought quickly. “The rings were forged as a pair,” he explained. “Elladan chose one, my mate took the other.” It was not the complete truth but it was no lie either. He would have to tell Elladan of his ruse. 

“I see. But, Legolas, why have I not met your spouse after all these years?” Elrohir asked, a mystified frown marring his brow. 

Legolas bit his lip. “‘Tis because I had to leave him in Middle-earth.”

“Leave him? Why—?” The twin cut himself off at the look of distress that appeared in the archer’s eyes. Though curious about the reason behind the other’s discomfort, he did not press on. “Forgive me, I should not pry.” But after a decent pause, he could not help asking, “Did I know him?”

“Very well,” Legolas replied, forcing a smile.

“What is his name?”

“His name would mean nothing to you,” Legolas replied evasively. “When you have recalled all your past life, I will tell you then.”

Elrohir was puzzled by his friend’s reticence but decided to let it go. Something else, however, bothered him. “If you are bound, why do others still pursue you? Have they no respect for your spouse?”

Legolas shrugged. “They have their reasons, reprehensible though some may be. But I can assure you, they pursue me in vain.”

“Good,” Elrohir smiled. “I may have been a rogue but I do believe in fidelity between binding-mates. May I assume then that he will join you soon?”

Legolas hesitated. He decided a portion of the truth would do no harm. “Not yet,” he said softly. “He passed into the Halls of Mandos years ago when we still resided in Middle-earth.”

Elrohir stared at him in dismay. “Ah, I am so sorry. I did not mean to trouble you.”

Legolas shook his head. “You did not know,” he said, his voice catching.

Elrohir gazed at him with compassion. “You still grieve for him,” he murmured. “You must have shared a great love.”

“We did,” Legolas said. “I never thought I would know anything like it.”

“It must be wonderful to know a love like that,” Elrohir mused. “I envy you, Legolas.”

“You would not if you knew how much pain it can bring,” the prince replied, suddenly bitter. “I guarded my heart for so long precisely because I did not want to know this grief.”

The twin looked at him with empathic sorrow. “Do you regret then that you gave your heart away?” 

Legolas heaved a disconsolate sigh. “Nay, I regret nothing,” he said. “If I sounded bitter, ‘tis only because the waiting can be unbearably long and bleak.” He looked down at his hand and the gold band.

“But you will have him again,” Elrohir said softly. “It may take unbearably long as you say, but you will be together again.”

Legolas willed himself to keep still, to refrain from drawing the twin into his arms much as he longed to. 

“I wonder what he was like,” Elrohir remarked. “He must have been very special indeed to affect you thus with his loss.” 

Legolas stared at him. There had been the slightest tinge of jealousy in the other’s tone. Whether it was just the twin’s discomfort at thinking himself displaced in his friend’s affections or a vestige of the Elf-knight’s legendary territoriality did not matter. It was soothing to be the object of the twin’s possessiveness once more. 

Daring just a little more candidness, he said, “Actually, he was very much like you.” 

Elrohir had to gasp. “You chose one akin to me?” he chuckled. “To take on someone like that must have taken unprecedented courage, not to mention a goodly sense of humor!”

Legolas had to smile at the other’s unknowing summing up of his own self. “I did not stand much of a chance. He pursued me quite relentlessly.” He paused. “Much as you would have done in the same position.”

Elrohir shook his head, bemused and amused. “As long as he treated you well,” he finally said. “And I assume he did since you pine for him so fervently.” He glanced at the archer; wondered at the fondness with which the other regarded him. “And when he returns to you he had better continue to treat you so,” he continued softly. “For if he does not, I will personally send him to Námo’s halls a second time!”

There was no mistaking the raw emotion in the twin’s tone. It betrayed the depth of his caring for Legolas as a friend. Would that the archer could soon add lover to the list of roles the twin played in his life. 

On impulse, he drew out from underneath his shirt the chain upon which the Elf-warrior’s ring hung. He removed it from his neck and held it in his hand. “‘Tis his ring,” he whispered. He looked at the twin and drew a deep breath. “I would ask a favor of you, Elrohir.”

“Anything.” 

“Will you take this and keep it against the day when he will be returned to me?”

Elrohir stared at him. “Why me?” he asked nonplussed. “Should you not keep it?”

Legolas tried to smile. “Do not ask me why,” he murmured. “Please, just take it.” He took Elrohir’s hand and placed the ring on its chain in the other’s palm.

Elrohir gazed in silence at the band for a long while. Studied the intertwined leaves of gold and _mithril_ and the single emerald in the center, beautiful in its clarity and the purity of its color.

“This is of dwarven make,” he said suddenly. “Did Gimli make this for you?”

Legolas nodded. “‘Twas his nuptial gift to us.” 

Unaware of the implicit meaning of Legolas’s reply, Elrohir raised a finger and stroked the finely wrought leaves on the band. For some reason, he thought the ring so precious as to be priceless and closed his fingers almost reverently around it. He looked up at Legolas and saw the other’s eyes were glistening brightly.

He raised his hand and, with his thumb, wiped away a tear that threatened to trickle down the prince’s cheek. “I will keep this for you,” he promised. He drew Legolas into a comforting embrace. It took all of the archer’s will not to return the embrace over ardently.

_To be continued…_


	17. XVI. Majority

Artirion, _Yávannië_ F.A. 189  
The youngest prince of Taur Galen arrived at the secluded house of the Lord of Artirion one bright day in September. Finding no one in the main hall he wandered out to the gardens, thinking the family might be gathered there to enjoy the cool morning breeze. He nearly collided with Elladan as the other entered the house. 

“Legolas!” he exclaimed. “You are early.” 

“I could hardly be late for this day,” the prince pointed out. 

He wondered at Elladan’s reaction. It seemed his friend was torn between happiness and anxiety at seeing him. But before he could ascertain what troubled him, voices drifted toward them from the garden. He turned his head and quickly spotted the one Elf he desired to see. 

“Elrohir?” he called tentatively.

At the mention of his name, the younger twin turned in the prince’s direction and stared at him. A wide smile split his lips and he exclaimed, “Legolas!” He hurried towards the archer. 

With typical warmth he swept the prince into a welcoming embrace. Legolas hugged him back, his heart beating wildly. 

“I am glad you have arrived, _gwador_ ,” the younger twin said. 

Legolas jerked back and stared at him, eyes clouding with frustration. “ _Gwador?_ ” he repeated tightly.

Mistaking the archer’s reaction for surprise at yet another recollection, Elrohir smiled. “I remembered that we swore to be as brothers to each other,” he explained. 

Legolas swallowed painfully. “That-that is wonderful,” he managed to utter. A moment later, anguish struck him with such force that he almost physically reeled from it.

“What is wrong, Legolas?” Elrohir asked worriedly when the prince paled to a sickly shade.

Elrond suddenly appeared behind them and placed a hand on his younger son’s shoulder. “ _Iôn_ ”—son—“go with your mother. Elladan and I need to speak with Legolas in private.”

“But, _Ada_ —" Elrohir looked at his father in puzzlement but when Celebrían held out her hand to him, he sighed and said to Legolas, “I would speak to you about this later, Legolas.” At the archer’s nodded acquiescence, the younger twin escorted his mother into the house. 

At a gesture from Elrond, Glorfindel and Erestor came over and stood by Elladan. Elrond turned to the ashen-faced prince, his eyes expressing his understanding and compassion. 

“There are still gaps in his memories, Legolas,” Elrond said. “There are matters he still has not recalled even about his mother, myself or Arwen. ‘Tis only his relationship with Elladan that he knows in full. Mayhap their twinship has to do with this; the shared year in their mother’s womb easing the way for those memories.” Elrond paused, his eyes conveying heartfelt sympathy for the prince. “He still does not recall anything beyond your friendship.”

Legolas swallowed hard. “I had hoped his restoration would be completed by his coming-of-age,” he said in a subdued voice. “Does he not even remember that he once... desired me?” he queried heavily.

Elladan shook his head. “Nay, _gwanur_. I am sorry.”

Glorfindel placed a consoling hand on the prince’s shoulder. “But he is now of age, Legolas. You are free to court him until such time that he recalls your espousal.”

Legolas heaved a forlorn sigh. “But he knows I am bound,” he said. “He would never entertain such a move from me. And even did he not know this, I still dare not woo him.”

“Why so?” Erestor asked in surprise.

Legolas glanced sadly at the steward. “I know him well. Once he learns I love him, he would do his utmost to try and return it that I should not be hurt. If he were to fail, he would then berate himself for not being able to meet my need.” He had accurately summed up the younger twin’s most likely reactions. “I will not do that to him. ‘Tis a terrible burden to carry the weight of such guilt and I refuse to let him bear it.”

“But, Legolas—” Elladan started to say.

“I will wait,” the prince staunchly said.

“It may be a long wait,” Elrond said gently. 

Legolas’s eyes turned sorrowful. “I have already waited this long. I can be patient a little longer,” he said dolefully.

oOoOoOo

Elrohir’s coming-of-age was celebrated with typical restraint and ample regard for the guests’ comfort. In keeping with the younger twin’s well-known dislike for pomp and circumstance, only close kith and kin were in attendance. However, considering that said kith and kin included three Elvenkings and a host of great lords and living legends, it was not surprising that the event attracted more attention than the most elaborate coming-of-age rites in recent memory.

Legolas grinned as he watched Elrohir converse with Elladan’s twins. Though they had reached their majority decades ago, they afforded their uncle all the deference due one of far greater years than theirs. But then, of course, Elrohir’s youth was only evident in his re-born body. His eyes were another story. Over three millennia worth of experiences gleamed in those twilight pools. His body was new but his eyes, the windows of his soul, were old.

His appearance at the ceremony had elicited quite a number of gasps of appreciation encouraged further by Elladan’s presence at his side. On this shared anniversary of their begetting, the twins had dressed as mirror images of each other.

Both wore rich garments of stark black, sumptuous violet and muted mauve. Every detail was duplicated on their raiment but on contrasting sides so that when the brethren faced each other it looked as if people beheld one or the other through a mirror. Even the _mithril_ brooches that held their formal mantles asymmetrically across their chests were pinned on opposite shoulders, Elladan’s on his left shoulder and Elrohir on the right. Not surprisingly, they had flouted tradition and instead of formal robes had opted for richly textured, court tunics and bound their sable locks into thick, single plaits. They appeared as they had been in Middle-earth. Warrior princes without peer.

With typical verve, Elrohir had chosen the occasion to reclaim his twinship with Elladan. Looking at them this evening, it was near impossible to imagine that they had ever been apart, that a whole cycle of death, rebirth and growth had come between them. They were in complete accord once more, in perfect harmony as they had been when first they’d shared their mother’s womb.

'Would that he would reclaim our love as well,' Legolas thought sadly. 

He’d looked forward to this day though the more rational part of his mind had chided him and warned him not to expect too much. Caution had dictated that he put aside his hopes and keep to sense instead. But hope had run sense into the ground, whether he willed it or not. He’d hoped, expected the twin to remember something, anything of their intimacy at the very least. But it was painfully apparent that nothing of the sort had occurred. The memories remained locked away and not even his coming-of-age had yielded the key to their retrieval thus far. 

He was so lost in his pensive thoughts that he did not notice Elrohir’s approach.

“Why so melancholic?” the Elf-knight murmured. “You gave me reason to believe that you looked forward to this day. Was I wrong in my presumptions?”

Legolas blushed. So, Elrohir had noticed his previous eagerness. He’d thought he’d concealed his feelings well.

“Nay, you were not mistaken,” he demurred. 

“Then why so mournful now that the day has arrived?” Elrohir persisted.

Legolas knew he had to be partially truthful at least. “I suppose I expected much on this day and not all that I had hoped for has been fulfilled,” he admitted.

Elrohir pursed his lips. “You allude to my memory,” he murmured. "'Tis the only thing still lacking.” He sighed and looked keenly at the prince. “Why do I feel as if I have failed you somehow?”

Legolas was taken aback. He had not reckoned with Elrohir’s perceptiveness and now felt shock that his beloved should think himself to blame for his sorrow. “You must not think yourself at fault in any way,” he objected. “You have never failed me in all our years together and I know you never will.”

Elrohir studied him closely. It was the same disconcerting stare that had oft reduced his foes in the past to nervous wrecks. The same astute gaze that had seen past the shields Legolas had once erected around his heart to the fears and doubts within. 

“You continue to conceal something from me,” he finally said, his eyes glittering unexpectedly with hurt. “Why, Legolas? Do you no longer trust me? Am I no longer your closest friend?” 

The prince flinched at his words. “You will always be my most beloved friend,” he avowed, gripping the Elf-warrior’s hand tightly. “Dearer to me than my own brothers.” At the gleam of relief and pleasure in the other’s silvered eyes, he said, “If I restrain myself, ‘tis for your sake, Elrohir. Please trust _me_ in this, _gwador_.” 

After a while, Elrohir let his breath out and nodded in acquiescence. Unexpectedly, he pulled Legolas into a heartfelt embrace, burying his face in the pale column of his neck. The very contact electrified every cell in the prince’s body. He had to strive hard not to turn his head and take hungry possession of the twin’s mouth. Drawing a deep, steadying breath, he returned the embrace. 

Across the garden, Elladan stared at them in surprise and the beginnings of delight. But the expression on the archer’s face told him the true tale and he sighed. He locked gazes with Legolas, conveying all his sympathy and compassion in his storm blue eyes.

oOoOoOo

In the next few years, Elrohir’s memory continued to improve in leaps and bounds; he was almost himself once more. But of his relationship with Legolas he still remembered little save for an unrelenting desire for the prince’s company; a desire he put down to their close friendship so abruptly cut off by his untimely passing. 

One thing did provide great comfort for the archer. Elrohir continued to regard him as he once had long ago. The dearest of all those dear to him. It meant that they carried on spending many days and long hours in each other’s society. If he could not have the twin’s love as a mate, then at least he could enjoy his love as a friend. 

For the most part, he managed to be content. Elrohir’s physical presence, the sight of his dear face, the sound of his melodious voice, was a balm for the prince’s wounds. But there were occasions when that same presence also afforded him pain and frustration for he could not always suppress his need for renewed intimacy with the warrior. Their binding drew him to the twin on all levels including bodily desire. But he could not approach Elrohir for assuagement of his longing. 

Elladan commiserated with him over this frustrating set of circumstances. “‘Tis a pity he learned about your binding,” he said. “Had he not, you could approach him now to answer your desire.” 

Legolas shook his head. “Even were he unaware of my wedded state, it would still be unmeet for me to ask this of him,” he objected. “What passed between us before was for friendship’s sake. Elrohir did not expect more from me than to meet his needs. This is different.”

“How is it different?” Elladan remarked. “He wanted you then and you yielded. Now, ‘tis you who wants him. Were it not for your binding, he would not refuse you. He holds your friendship as dearly as you do his.”

“But I would not be able to conceal my love for him,” Legolas explained. “And, as I said before, I have no intention of unduly pressuring him into returning it. You know what that could do to him.”

Unable to disagree, Elladan felt almost as glum as the archer. “Already he is sought almost as ardently as you are,” he grumbled. “What if he returns to his old ways? Would that I could spare you such pain. And I confess I fear for him as well should he remember your binding only after he has broken his vows. He will never forgive himself for hurting you so grievously, _gwanur_.” 

“I know,” Legolas whispered. 

Yet he could do nothing to stop the Elrohir from doing that which would eventually wound both of them. If he felt the need for intimacy, there was no doubt Elrohir was experiencing the same urges. Even before his majority he had already been seen to possess a roving eye and an unerring instinct for picking the most beauteous maids or the most attractive males in Eldamar. 

And he had no problem whatsoever drawing their interest in turn. Indeed, there were many who had been tempted to seduce the young Elf-lord even in his minority however against custom that was. But for the watchful eye of his family, there was no telling if such an attempt might have succeeded given Elrohir’s past.

Presently, in physical appearance, Elrohir was very much alike to his form when he had passed away and that meant he was breathtakingly fair and utterly irresistible. It presented a hazard the prince profoundly disliked. For there were Elves aplenty who had no compunctions about going after one who was already bound if circumstances eased the passage of such a transgression. Elrohir’s circumstances presented a unique and almost irresistibly tantalizing temptation to many. 

The situation infuriated Legolas even more than the persistent pursuit of his own self. He was well aware that for many, it was not only the taboo against informing a re-born Elf of his past in an untimely fashion that kept them from doing so. They simply thought it beneficial to their interests to keep the lovers apart. 

Amongst these were those who continued to seek the woodland prince’s favors and the Elf-knight’s own former lovers, Elf-males and Elf-maids alike. They had known him as Legolas had and, like the prince, had never forgotten the rapture they’d experienced in Elrohir’s arms. They were a threat to reckon with for they had the advantage of their erstwhile intimacy with the younger twin to aid them in their wooing. 

As a result, Legolas was forced to put up with the attentions shown the Elf-rider and endure the latter’s appreciation of said attentions in turn. The pain that wreaked was particularly excruciating. What if he returned to his promiscuous ways? Since he knew not that he was bound, what was there to stop him from seeking pleasure in some fair maiden’s bed or mayhap with a handsome Elf? 

Legolas tried to steel himself against the evil day when he would hear of some such coupling but he could not completely shut himself off from the hurt. No matter that it would be but a mere indulgence, one in a multitude in the twin’s disreputable history, the thought of his spouse sharing himself with another, no matter how shallow or fleeting, wounded him terribly. Still he could not act upon his desire to claim him here and now.

For the first time, Legolas fully comprehended why Elrohir had not declared himself at once all those centuries ago. Their deep, abiding friendship had proven the greatest hindrance of all when it came to his heart’s yearnings.

Had Legolas known of his love too soon, he would have been rendered discomforted by it. The easy trust between them would have been marred by the archer’s sure suspicions of other intentions even in the Elf-knight’s most innocent of gestures. And in the end, Elrohir’s love had indeed proved more daunting to the prince than his desire. Legolas had not forsaken the Elf-knight even in the wakes of their intermittent couplings down through the centuries. But he had nearly done so when love reared its overwhelming, frightening head. 

That they had lain together as lovers and managed to maintain their close friendship was as much to Elrohir’s credit as it was to Legolas. True, the prince had treasured their comradeship so dearly that he had willingly yielded than lose his dearest of all friends. But Elrohir had known the reason behind Legolas’s willingness and had inhibited himself from expressing his love for close to two thousand years. In effect, he had readily sacrificed his heart’s well-being for the sake of Legolas’s peace of mind and made a brutal choice in the process.

He placed Legolas first, foregoing the bliss of his heart’s fulfillment if by doing so he could keep their friendship intact, knowing how greatly the archer depended on it and him. When he had dared to finally reveal the truth, he had taken the greatest risk of all. And when it had seemed all was in vain, he had chosen once more to put Legolas first and let him go.

It was this unflinching resolve that had convinced Legolas to unshield his heart and offer it to the Elf-knight. That Elrohir should love him so deeply that he would always put his welfare, his avowed wishes and, above all, his happiness above his own even if he would perforce pay the ultimate price, had at last dissolved the archer’s reservations and allayed his fears. He had reaped the rewards of his surrender most bounteously. He had known naught but joy and contentment in Elrohir’s tender keeping. 

Legolas could do no less than repay Elrohir in kind now. He would not mar the young Elf’s trust in him. He would not have Elrohir believe that his affectionate demeanor had stemmed from motives other than the pure love of a friend. He could not burden his beloved Twilight with the knowledge of their oaths when the other was in no position to keep them.

As Elrohir had once put his interests first, so now would he do the same for Elrohir. Even if it broke his heart and scarred his very soul.

**********************************  
Glossary:  
Yávannië - Quenya for September

_To be continued…_


	18. XVII. Stirrings

It was during a walk along the pristine shores of the Bay of Eldamar that he received the answer to his fears. Nearly a score of years had passed since the Elf-knight had reached his majority. There was no trace of the newly come-of-age Elf; as a rule, elven rebirth led to swift maturation that a returned _Edhel_ might continue with his life soonest.

Legolas watched somberly as Elrohir picked up a stone and threw it into the waves. The twin seemed out of sorts this breezy afternoon.

“What ails you?” Legolas asked curiously as the warrior glared at the endless sea.

Elrohir sighed and turned back to face him. He pursed his lips in that oh-so-familiar and therefore endearing manner that betrayed frustration. “There must be something wrong with me,” he replied. At Legolas’s surprised reaction he went on to explain testily, “They say our faults are corrected in the Halls of Awaiting. It makes me wonder if this particular fault of mine has been stripped from me.” 

“What fault do you refer to?” Legolas queried.

“My passion, it seems,” Elrohir answered with a scowl. 

The prince stared at him in surprise. “What?” he scoffed. “What do you mean? I have seen you look at others with the same interest you once took in the Elves of Middle-earth. You cannot pretend you feel no desire.”

“Desire, aye, I do feel it,” the twin agreed. “How can anyone not notice the beauty of the Eldar of Valinor? But beyond that I falter.” He snorted with disgust. “Do not laugh, Legolas, but I have been chaste since my coming-of-age.”

Legolas gaped at him. To Elrohir, the archer’s reaction was understandable, thinking as he did that it was disbelief that drove him to silence. The word chastity and the names of Elrond’s sons were rarely if ever uttered together. Even within the eternal bounds of comfortable monogamy with binding-mates, their need for the pleasures of physical coupling continued unabated. Elladan’s relationship with Nimeithel was already talked about in Eldamar for its intensely passionate nature.

But Legolas was not rendered speechless by incredulity. Rather he was reduced to dumbness by active relief. To know for certain that something stayed the Elf-knight’s usual predilection for bed-play no matter how casual was an unexpected boon in the midst of Legolas’s longing-driven gloom. Elrohir was still his and his alone. He drew in a shaky breath and silently uttered a prayer of thanks to the Valar for sparing him further pain. 

Of a sudden, he remembered Gimli’s sage counsel of more than thirty years past. “What stays you?” he asked, just this side of giddy from anticipation of the answer. “Is it simply lack of passion or—?”

“I seem to have become more discriminating in my taste,” Elrohir said. “I constantly compare them all and find them wanting.”

“Wanting in comparison to—?” Legolas pressed on.

Elrohir blushed of a sudden. “Please, do not be offended but I compare them to—well, to you. But there is none in all Valinor to match you.” This last ended almost in a whisper. “I hope you do not take this as disrespect to you, Legolas,” he hurried on. “‘Tis not that I use your image as-as—” The blush grew deeper as the Elf-lord grew ever more uncharacteristically embarrassed. 

But for his centuries-honed discipline and well-ingrained prudence, Legolas might have taken him right then and there. As it was, it was all he could do to keep from pulling Elrohir into his arms and kissing him senseless. 

“I am not offended,” he gently assured his unknowing spouse. If anything, he felt much heartened. Not to mention flattered. 

“I only mean that I admire you and think you the comeliest Elf in Valinor,” Elrohir explained seriously, calmed by Legolas’s manner. “I cannot help but envy your mate that he won you. Would that I be so fortunate as he when the time comes.” He sighed then complained, “Not that anything will happen if I continue to be so selective!”

His heart swelling with full-blown relief, budding elation and bursting affection, Legolas patted his Elf-knight’s arm comfortingly. 

“Mayhap ‘tis just a passing phase,” he said with a genuine grin. Inwardly, he fervently hoped it was not and would remain thus until fate or time saw fit to restore Elrohir to him in full.

oOoOoOo

The forest river was swift moving and oft cold even at the height of summer. But that little troubled the Elves who enjoyed its bracing waters. Elladan grinned as his twin looked longingly at the rushing flow.

“If you truly wish to take a swim, do not let us hinder you,” he said. 

At his side Legolas chuckled and said, “Indeed, I will join you, Elrohir. ‘Tis a blazingly hot day. What about you, Elladan?”

The older twin shook his head. “I am more inclined to take a nap in the shade of this tree,” he replied, suiting action to words.

They had gone hunting together in the great forest at the western feet of Túna that morning and had brought down a goodly number of game for the royal pantries. But instead of returning to the Elvenking’s halls, they had sent the other hunters ahead and headed for the river instead. Elrohir had expressed a desire for a quick dip in its cool waters. 

Elladan watched a while as his brother and friend swiftly stripped before diving into the river. He smiled and allowed himself to drift into light slumber. 

He and Nimeithel had come to Taur Galen for a whole summer’s visit with her parents. Naturally, Elrohir had insisted on coming with them that he might spend the season with Legolas. The past month had been most refreshing for the brethren, affording them the luxury of a spell of duty-less freedom. 

While Elladan dozed, Legolas and Elrohir tested their mettle and strength against the river’s powerful current. Battling the fierce flow, they soon reached the great falls that fed Taur Galen’s main tributary. Avoiding the perilous roiling whirlpools at the fall’s turbulent base, they clambered out onto the rock-strewn banks and rested upon the mossy boulders awhile. 

Lying atop one flat boulder, Elrohir regarded the clear skies with a contented sigh. Legolas grinned, pleased to see him enjoying himself. 

“That was a great buck you brought down,” he praisefully remarked. “I believe ‘tis the same one that has eluded our hunters for many months now.”

Elrohir smiled. “‘Twas a cunning beast,” he said. “I almost thought to let it go.”

“Why didn’t you?” Legolas inquired.

“He was the only stag we came across. And you like venison.”

Legolas looked at him fondly. “Thank you,” he softly said. 

“Don’t mention it.”

At length, Legolas rose to his feet and looked anon at the river. “Shall we walk back or swim?” he said.

“Swim,” Elrohir answered, moving to get to his feet as well. He stopped suddenly as his gaze fell on the fair archer. 

Legolas noted the startled look in his eyes. One would think he had never seen his friend before. 

“Elrohir?” he asked wonderingly. “What is wrong?”

The Elf-knight shook his head but his eyes seemed clouded with confusion. “Nothing,” he said hoarsely. “Come, let us return to Elladan.”

He did not wait for Legolas to join him but dove at once into the river once more. Puzzled, Legolas followed him. 

The archer was even more bemused when they returned to where Elladan now awaited them. Elrohir hurriedly drew on his clothes and kept his gaze averted from the archer. That struck Elladan as odd while Legolas did not quite know whether to feel troubled or hurt.

“ _Muindor_ , what is it?” Elladan questioned him. When Elrohir would not reply, he softly added, “You will lead Legolas to believe that he has wronged you in some way.”

Elrohir quickly looked at the prince and noted his chary mien. Drawing a shaky breath, he reached out and gripped Legolas’s hand. 

“Forgive me if I was abrupt,” he said. “I was only beset by something I never expected.”

“And what is this thing?” Legolas asked quietly.

“I cannot tell you,” Elrohir replied. “Not now. Please, do not think that I do not trust you, Legolas. ‘Tis only that—”

The prince gently silenced him by placing two fingers against his lips. It was clear Elrohir had been taken unaware by some unexpected thought or feeling. He was not offended that the Elf-knight would not confide in him. Just as there were matters that Elrohir told him but not Elladan, so were there things better suited to Elladan’s ears than the archer’s. Apparently, this was one of the latter.

“I understand,” he said. 

oOoOoOo

That evening, Elrohir did not come down to dinner but sent his excuses instead. Worried, Elladan sought him in his room. Memories of times past continued to afflict his brother, some disturbing enough to dismay the intrepid Elf-knight. But then that was not unexpected considering the uncertain life they had all known and survived in Middle-earth.

He found Elrohir seated before the hearth, staring with haunted eyes into the fire. 

“ _Gwanneth?_ What is wrong?” he softly inquired, sitting down by his twin.

Elrohir scarcely looked at him. “When I lay down to clear my head, I saw a vision. Images of him... with me.” He shook his head. “I cannot put it into words.”

Elladan regarded him thoughtfully then reached out tentatively with his thoughts. Elrohir felt the light inquiring probe. Acceding, he opened his mind and completed the connection between them.

It was controlled of course. Even with his twin, Elrohir never revealed all that passed between him and Legolas. Not all words or thoughts or deeds.

Elladan allowed the flow of images to register on his own mind’s eye. He saw a candlelit room and recognized it as Legolas’s old bedchamber in Greenwood. Saw his brother and the woodland prince talking, about what Elrohir did not reveal. And then it came—brief but vivid images of sable and gold mingling upon snowy sheets and pristine pillows, two bodies straining and joining in love-play, the sounds of imminent completion...

Elrohir withdrew from their link then, but it was enough for Elladan. He knew what his twin had recalled. 

The Elf-knight drew in a shuddering breath before looking squarely at Elladan. “Did I— did I ever— lie with Legolas?” he whispered.

Elladan hesitated then said, “Aye, you did.”

“Why?” Elrohir gasped. “Why in Arda did I bed my own friend?”

“He was not the only friend you bedded in all your years, Elrohir,” Elladan reminded him.

“But he was my dearest one,” Elrohir fiercely countered. “How could I have demeaned him?”

“You did not!” Elladan objected. “Legolas willingly yielded to you.”

“For what reason, Elladan?” Elrohir insisted. “There must have been a good reason for him to have done so.”

Elladan pondered what to say. The temptation to tell Elrohir everything was very great. But judging from his reaction, it would be unwise. Legolas had been right. Were he to reveal their binding to his brother now, Elrohir would just as passionately throw himself into attempting to feel something of his love for the archer and, possibly failing under such forced circumstances, would endlessly fault himself for disappointing Legolas. 

“There are times when friendship can lead to intimacy,” he carefully pointed out. “You and Legolas were extremely close. It so happened that you sought intimacy with each other during certain... straits in your long association.”

“What straits?”

Elladan sighed. His twin could be so tenacious. “You—developed an obsession for him,” he honestly related. “He chose to succor you rather than lose you. ‘Twas your first joining in Mirkwood that you envisioned.” Taking Elrohir’s incredulity in stride he continued. “And then when mother had to leave for Valinor, Legolas comforted you in the only way that seemed to reach you. The last time you coupled with him before-before he fell in love with... his mate... was after a terrible quarrel that near sundered your friendship.”

Elrohir swallowed hard. “I touched him in that manner?” he said in a hushed voice. “And he stayed my friend?”

“He did not think it too high a price to pay for the regard you had always shown him,” Elladan said. “Do not fault yourself in this.” He looked at his brother curiously. “What recalled to you your intimacy with him?”

Elrohir swallowed again. “At the river,” he murmured. “When we got to the falls and rested, I suddenly... saw him in another way. I was— I was overcome by his-his bared magnificence.” At Elladan’s choked gasp, he glared at him. “‘Twas not intentional! I had not thought of him that way before. Not even when I compared him to all those who sought to woo me!”

Elladan met his twin’s troubled gaze. “Did his mate know about us?” Elrohir asked. “I cannot bear the thought that I may have unwittingly caused discord between them!”

“He knew,” Elladan assured him. “And he accepted your closeness to Legolas. Do not let this distress you.”

Elrohir looked down at his hands. “I am shocked, Elladan, that I should have coveted him in that way. And that he cared enough to answer my needs!” He clenched his hands. “He was ever worthy of my regard even then and now I know why. The Valar grant that his love be returned to him soonest.”

Elladan pursed his lips, caught between an urge to laugh and a compulsion to weep, both born of a mixture of frustration, excitement and tension.

“‘Tis Legolas’s most fervent prayer as well,” he finally said. He drew his twin into a soothing embrace. “But for now, you must be his comfort until that yearned for day comes.”

“I do my best,” Elrohir murmured. “But how can that ever be enough when he misses his love so terribly?”

Elladan had no answer for that. 

When he returned downstairs, he found Legolas anxiously awaiting him. Glancing at his family in the dining chamber, he took the archer by the arm and led him out to the porch. The house was a fair distance from other dwellings save for the residential pavilion. They would not be overheard or disturbed.

“Tell me all, Elladan,” Legolas demanded without preamble as soon as they were out of earshot of the others.

Elladan bit his lips. “I do not wish to raise false hopes,” he began reluctantly.

Legolas stared at him then said firmly: “Better false hopes than none at all. Please, _gwanur_ , tell me what happened.”

Elladan blew his breath out. “His odd demeanor at the river?” the older twin abruptly said. “‘Tis because he was bested by the sight of your ‘bared magnificence’.”

The archer stared at his friend in shocked disbelief. Elladan smiled faintly at his expression.

“His words, not mine,” he said. “Legolas, it caused him to remember your first joining in Mirkwood.” 

Legolas caught his breath. He swallowed hard then nodded to the Elf-lord to continue. Elladan swiftly recounted everything to the archer. 

When he was done, Legolas gazed at him, hope and fear alternately lighting and shadowing his eyes. “What can we expect now?” he inquired almost timorously.

“In truth, I do not know,” Elladan said. “But for him to recall that event after seeing you at the river... Sometimes the body remembers ere the mind does. He responded to you as he has not with any other Elf. He may not recall his love for you as yet but he has at last begun to feel desire.” He placed an encouraging hand on his law-brother’s shoulder. “I know ‘tis not as much as you hoped for, yet it is a start.” 

Legolas gazed up at the starry firmament, eyes gleaming with unfathomable emotion. After a long silent while, he looked at Elladan once more and smiled, the gentleness of it enough to near bring the Elf-lord to tears.

The prince whispered tremulously: “As you said, it is a start.” 

_To be continued…_


	19. XVIII. Fraught Desires

Legolas came to Elrond’s halls bearing gifts from his father. But upon ascertaining that Elrohir was at the cascades, he quickly made his excuses and went in search of the younger twin. It did not escape Nimeithel’s amused scrutiny when her brother furtively slipped one of the gifts back into the pack in which he had borne them to Artirion.

It was but a month since the Elf-knight recalled their first tryst in Mirkwood.

Several minutes later, he was questioning the wisdom of going to Elrohir. He found the Elf a short distance from the falls, lounging in the shade of a massive oak. He was lying on his side reading a book, his lank muscular frame stretched out in leisurely repose. Clad only in a thin shirt, long breeches and light shoes, his obsidian mane spilling carelessly over to one side, he presented an image that would incite even the most measured of Elves to pure lust.

Legolas was no exception and his previous experiences at the enthralling hands of the twin rendered him even more vulnerable to such turbulent feelings. He had to struggle for calm before approaching the latter. Recalling Elrohir’s distress in the aftermath of their swim in the forest river, he firmly pushed away the passion threatening to fog his already love-befuddled senses.

Confident that he had his wayward yearnings under control, he made his presence known to Elrohir.

“Were this Middle-earth and I an orc, you would have been skewered like a wild boar long before you knew of my approach,” he teasingly chided the warrior Elf. Elrohir’s start of surprise made his deliberate stealth well worth the effort.

“Then I suppose I should thank the Powers that this is not Middle-earth,” Elrohir muttered, his cheeks flushing. 

Legolas knew it touched on his pride to have his warrior’s senses questioned. The archer relented at once. “You were deep in your perusal of that book,” he smilingly offered. “You have no reason to be wary in the heart of your father’s realm anymore than in the hidden vale of Imladris.”

Elrohir beamed gratefully at the archer’s gracious rescue. “Would that I could hunt orcs again as I did of yore. Valinor is a mite too peaceful for my taste.”

Legolas grinned. “Which is why you are so fearsome at the chase and seek the most perilous game to pursue,” he remarked.

Elrohir chuckled. “I do not think you came here just to poke fun at my restless spirits,” he drawled. “What is it you have in that pack?”

“A gift from my father to yours,” Legolas replied. “One of them anyway.” He pulled out a slender bottle filled with a burgundy-hued liquid.

Elrohir’s eyes widened. “Dorwinion wine! How in Arda did you get hold of that?”

“Some of our people passed over sea. They brought quite a store of luxuries from the Hinter Lands with them.” 

“‘Tis truly a gift fit for a king,” Elrohir smiled. “I wish Erestor would put that scholar’s mind of his to reproducing it here.”

“I believe he was already mulling over the problem when I left your father’s halls,” Legolas replied.

“Then he will succeed,” Elrohir predicted confidently. “There is nothing Erestor cannot solve when he sets his mind to it.”

“Especially when he has Glorfindel helping him,” Legolas added archly.

Elrohir laughed with him briefly before he blushed anew. Evidently, the allusion to the two Elves’ relationship reminded him of the incident at the river. Legolas discerned this at once and sought to stem the darkling Elf’s embarrassment.

“I do not mind if you feel thusly with me,” he softly assured the twin. Elrohir’s startled stare told him the Elf-warrior had not been aware his brother had divulged his secret to the prince. “‘Tis natural to have unruly feelings after such lengthy continence.”

“Aye, so Elladan suggested to me,” Elrohir said. He bit his lip. “But I do not recall being so unable to control myself in all my years in Middle-earth. I was all undone by you and I could do nothing to stop it. Forgive me, _gwador_ , it shall not happen again.” 

“You cannot command your body to stop feeling as it does, Aduial,” Legolas pointed out, his blue gaze suddenly intense. 

Elrohir stared at him in surprise at the unexpectedly bestowed name. There was something unmistakably intimate about being addressed thus by his friend. And hauntingly familiar. 

_Twilight?_

_’Tis the color of your eyes. Am I the only one who has ever thought to call you thus?_

He caught his breath at the flitting remembrance of its first utterance. A rush of pleasure coursed through him, recalling the unbidden desire for the archer that had overwhelmed him by the forest river. He swallowed hard at the turbulent feelings that welled up within him anew. 

Legolas espied the confusion in the warrior’s eyes but could not bring himself to regret his usage of the pet name. He could not deny the need to establish some measure of intimacy between them and the appellation had been particularly cherished by the Elf-knight. 

Still regarding the darkling Elf intently, he softly added, “And as I said, I do not mind.” 

Striving to bring his capricious emotions under control, Elrohir took a deep calming breath. “As long as I do not act upon it,” he finished for the archer. Or thought he did. 

He was quite perturbed when Legolas did not concur with his pronouncement. To diffuse his tension, he cocked his head and gestured with his chin toward the bottle of wine in the prince’s hand.

“Did you bring that merely to torment me or do I get to taste of it?” he asked cheekily.

Legolas grinned, diverted from his heavy mood for the moment. “I will let you taste it,” he grinned. “But I get to say how much. I would not have you return to your father inebriated and then be blamed for your condition.”

“Inebriated!” Elrohir was outraged. “I could drink you under the table, Thranduilion. _That_ I clearly recall!”

“Aye, that you could,” Legolas conceded. “But your reborn form has not yet remembered how to handle excess drink even if your mind knows you once did.” He added wickedly, “Or have you forgotten who had to help put you to bed after you downed five bottles of Maltaurean ale last _Girithron_ in Alqualondë?”

Elrohir glared at him with such indignation that he burst out laughing. After a moment, the Elf-knight ruefully grinned and said, “Mayhap you are right. Very well, I leave it to you. Only have pity and do not stint so much as to only whet my thirst further.”

Legolas smirked. “I will be generous, never fear.” He pulled out the cork with his teeth, the roguish manner making Elrohir shake his head with amusement.

“Barbaric Wood-elf,” he muttered under his breath.

“Have a care, _gwador_ ,” Legolas threatened good-naturedly. “I hold the wine, remember?”

“I beg your pardon, most gracious prince,” Elrohir shot back, eyes twinkling with mirth.

“First you call me barbaric, then you name me gracious. Which am I, O Confused One?” 

“Legolas?”

“Yes?”

“Shut up and let me have some of that blasted wine!”

Laughter claimed them both for a while until finally Legolas acceded to the twin’s demand. He hoisted the bottle up high and tilted it temptingly.

“Open wide, _meldiren_ ”—my friend—he mischievously ordered the other.

Elrohir stared at him then choked, “What am I, a drinking cup?”

“Elrohir.”

“What?”

“Shut up and do as I say if you want some of this blasted wine.”

The warrior mock-scowled then finally decided to submit to his friend’s cajoling. He threw his head back and opened his mouth. Legolas tipped the bottle and poured a thin stream of wine into the twin’s mouth. Then he took a swig of the wine himself, grinning as Elrohir shook his head with amusement. Chuckling, he convinced the twin to take his wine the same way two more times. 

It was on the third try that a little wine trickled from the corner of Elrohir’s mouth and down the side of his throat. The twin gasped then laughed ruefully, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Legolas was about to lift the bottle to his lips when he stopped, his eyes riveted on the dribble of wine that snaked its way down Elrohir’s neck. At the same time, he suddenly became aware of the twin’s scent. The familiar, oh-so singular scent that belonged to him alone. How strange that he still evoked memories of the hidden vale, of Imladris, and not Valinor, land of his rebirth. 

The memories were too much for him to resist. Long repressed desire forced its way past his barriers, breached the walls of his self-control. Reason abandoned him in the same instant his body betrayed him. Casting lucid thought aside, forgetting all his long-held convictions, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth against the twin’s neck, letting his tongue lap up the wine in a series of sensual caresses.

Elrohir caught his breath at the archer’s unexpected actions. “Legolas?” he gasped as his friend’s lips travelled up his throat to his jaw. “What-what are you d-doing?” he said shakily.

The prince made no answer save to capture his mouth in a heart-stoppingly tender kiss that set his head spinning and inflamed his senses with shocking swiftness. 

Elrohir was dumbfounded. He had never expected Legolas to make such a move. But even more disturbing, he was responding to him once more and so very readily at that. 

He felt the archer’s hands slowly map his torso and gasped at the thrill of passion that shot through his veins. As soon as his lips parted, the prince invaded his mouth with a hunger that left him shuddering with need. He found himself unable to resist or protest when Legolas pinned him against the tree, straddling him to hold him immobile. 

Elrohir felt a familiar surge of pleasure and desire sweep through him. He knew these feelings, had sought and enjoyed them before. And, suddenly, he knew what to do and how to do it. Though his re-born body was as yet untouched, his spirit was not. Sensations, thoughts, skills—all returned with startling clarity. Along with an irresistible yearning to seek release.

Legolas moaned as he felt the twin’s hands on him, stroking him, touching him, feeling him just where he was most sensitive. He trembled as his kiss was returned with stunning mastery and passion, the warrior’s hand grasping him by the nape to pull him ever deeper into their lips’ embrace.

He had missed this! Yearned for this closeness for so long. He could no longer rein in his desire. Aware only of his need, Legolas reached for the ties on Elrohir’s shirt and began to undo them.

As he tugged on one lacing, it caught on his finger and nearly knotted. Impatiently, he jerked it loose with a sharp pull of his right hand. The motion, slight as it was, caught Elrohir’s attention. Through the corner of his eyes, the twin saw the glint of gold on Legolas’s slightly upraised hand. Reason flooded his passion-dazed mind with sudden force.

With a ragged gasp, he managed to pull away from Legolas. The prince frowned, leaned forward to reclaim his lips. 

Elrohir held him back. “Legolas, we cannot do this!” he said hoarsely. 

The archer was visibly upset. Frustration shone clearly in his eyes. “Elrohir, I need you!” he growled. “By the Valar, do not deny me now!” 

“But I must,” the twin responded pleadingly. “‘Tis not right!”

“What is not right?” Legolas demanded. “We were lovers once.”

Elrohir shook his head almost desperately. “Before you took a mate,” he said. “Legolas, you are vowed to another.” 

Legolas stared at him, anger and reason battling it out in the depths of his heart. The struggle was all too clear in his expression. Anger won out. He suddenly pulled away from Elrohir, rising to his feet in one smooth, graceful motion. 

“You do not want me!” he hissed. “Just say it, Elrohir! Mayhap ‘tis another you desire!”

“Nay, that is not so!” Elrohir cried, leaping to his feet, reaching out to the other Elf. 

Legolas yanked his hand away. “Leave me alone!” he spat out. “Stay away from me!” 

He fled from the twin.

His last words were said with such despair, they smote Elrohir to the core of his being. He sped after the archer, catching up with him as the latter faltered to a stop and leaned wearily against a tree. 

Hesitantly, Elrohir placed a hand on Legolas’s arm. He winced when the prince stiffened against his touch. But he pressed on, determined not to part from his friend in anger and hurt. 

“If I could have you in honor, I would,” he said softly. “Elbereth knows how much I want you. You are the only one who has made me burn with need. But you are bound and yearn for your mate. I cannot take advantage of your loneliness. I would not have us betray him and you bear the burden of guilt ever after. Yet even more than that, you are my dearest friend. I would not destroy our friendship over mere lust.”

Legolas could not accept his Elf-knight’s reasoning. He was too distraught to accept anything rational at the moment. He refused to respond, declined to even look at the twin.

He felt Elrohir’s hand slip from his arm. Heard the other’s low, pained voice say, “You have changed since my coming-of-age. You oft become pensive when you are with me. I do not know what I have done to cause you so much pain but whatever it is, please, forgive me, Calenlass.”

 _Calenlass._ Elrohir had unknowingly uttered his pet name for the prince. The intimate name none but the younger twin ever used on Legolas. Love welled up to quell his anger. It calmed him, soothed his turmoil and helped his mind return to coherence. 

'He is honourable,' the prince mused. 'He always has been. ‘Tis one of the reasons I loved him as a friend and loved him even more as my spouse.' Legolas realized he could not now mar what he had so assiduously protected for the past eight decades. 

He wanted Elrohir to come to him in love-spurred passion, not in desire born of seduction. That the twin responded to him and him alone was evidence that their bond was still intact though not recalled by the latter. And the remembrance of the endearment indicated that other memories were finally coming back to him. He could only pray the rest would return soonest. He turned to look at Elrohir, saw that his twilight eyes gleamed with uncertainty and anxiety. 

“Nay, you have never given me anything but joy, Aduial,” Legolas murmured. “You were right to protect me from my own weakness.”

Steadying himself he drew Elrohir into his arms, tamping down on the desire that threatened to rise up again when the twin embraced him in return. He would not let his passions get the better of him again, he vowed. 

He felt a shudder pass through Elrohir’s frame though the warrior quickly took control of himself. Legolas knew it for what it was. Elrohir desired him just as much but was manfully suppressing it. The prince bolstered his spirits with the knowledge.

The line that divided desire from love was treacherously simple to cross. He would bide his time and wait for Elrohir to take that crucial step. And when he did, there would be no holding back. 

He would reclaim his Elf-knight. And woe to any who stood in his way.

**************************************  
Glossary:  
gwador - sworn brother  
Aduial - Twilight  
Thranduilion - son of Thranduil  
Girithron - Sindarin for December  
Calenlass - Greenleaf 

_To be continued.…_


	20. XIX. By Faith Alone

Occasionally, when he had the heart to consider it, Legolas would ponder the irony of his situation. 'I once led Elrohir on a merry chase,' he mused. 'Refused to acknowledge my feelings for him, hurt him and led him to believe his love hopeless that he nearly died from the grief of it. Now ‘tis I who waits and yearns, wondering when my feelings will be returned.'

In his years in Middle-earth, he had witnessed much sorrow wrought by the breaking of great love between two Elves whether by death, enforced separation or other equally painful circumstances. Unwilling to face such misery, he had shut his heart against love, allowing only that which one accorded kith and kin. He had also thought himself incapable of desiring male-kind. Even upon being enlightened about the duality of elven nature, he’d had the temerity to declare that he would not take that road even should the Valar themselves will it.

He still remembered the twins’ half jesting, half serious reactions to his ill-pondered declaration. 

Elrohir had cautioned him, saying, “Take care, Legolas. ‘Tis perilous to speak thus. The Powers may very well lead you down that path just to punish you for gainsaying them!”

And Elladan had pointed out that if he met the ‘right’ Elf, “I fear you will not be able to resist his allure for that is also part of our nature!”

Who would have guessed that Elf would be Elrohir? Indeed, who would have thought that Legolas would feel the pull so keenly that even under the delusion that he only did so for friendship’s sake, he would yield to Elrohir’s desire and eventually come to desire Elrohir as well? And who in Arda would have imagined that the younger twin would manage to accomplish the impossible, unlocking the golden prince’s unyielding heart and claiming it for his own?

When Elrond and Thranduil had forged an alliance between their realms, it had been solely for the protection of their people from the perils that beleaguered their borders. Neither had intended that their houses would be bound even more closely through their children. Legolas and Elrohir’s pairing had been the most unlikely of all. Both had shown a preference for female-kind; neither had considered mating with their own, not even Elrohir who had indulged in such affairs during his many years of carnal adventuring.

Yet, whether by the will of the Valar or the exhortations of fate, that which had been deemed unimaginable had come to pass. Best friends and sworn brothers became lovers and binding-mates. Who would have thought the idea anything other than preposterous and, therefore, unattainable? 

'He was the courageous one,' Legolas oft thought. 'Willing to suffer in silence rather than impose upon me, able to risk ultimate rejection rather than forego the chance of love. I only followed in his footsteps, learning to be strong by emulating him, holding to the path by dint of his indomitable will. ‘Tis no wonder I love him so.'

oOoOoOo

Eldamar, _lairë_ F.A. 234  
Legolas walked with his parents in the shining streets of Tirion, feeling pensive despite the merriment around him. It was difficult to share the gladness around him. Not when that which he so desired still eluded him with frustrating constancy.

It was a time of festival in Tirion upon the hill of Túna. Virtually all of neighboring Alqualondë, Artirion, Taur Galen and Maltaurë had emptied as the Teleri, Imladrins, Wood-elves and Galadhrim gathered in the elven city in the pass of the Calacirya. 

The Eldar of Valinor were not by any means one united people. At all other times, they tended to keep to their own realms. Thus, the Teleri and most of their Middle-earth kin, the Sindar, seldom left the shores of Eldamar; the Galadhrim were content to roam their golden wood; the Vanyar mostly stayed within sight of Taniquetil’s summit; and the Silvan Elves formerly of Greenwood were pleased to remain within their vast forest’s bounds under their Sindarin king’s rule. 

Only the Noldor, with their legendary adventurous streak, had spread out across the length and breadth of the Blessed Realm. Their domains stretched from the northern mining colonies with restored Formenos as their base, to the Noldorin capital of Tirion and the small but increasingly important realm of Artirion on Túna, to the westernmost settlements beyond Maltaurë.

Ingwë of the Vanyar was still recognized as High-king of the Eldar but he was by no means an absolute ruler. Finarfin, Olwë, Elrond, Thranduil, and Galadriel and Celeborn were not in any way beholden to him and ruled their own realms with utmost independence. But unity and accord amongst the different elven tribes were achieved by means of a High Council, which Ingwë headed.

The Council had become a necessity with the steady influx of Exiles and Elves from Middle-earth starting in the First Age after the fall of Morgoth. With so many groups of Elves and such varied needs and desires to be answered, the only way to avert active dissension and fractious relations had been to bring their leaders together in a formal organization.

Thus the High Council was born. With the single exception of Mithrandir, it was composed entirely of Elves. Aside from all the rulers of Aman’s elven realms, its membership included sage counsellors, valiant warriors and distinguished scholars and artists. Thus, of Elrond’s people, Glorfindel, Erestor and Lindir had been invited to join the Council, as had both his twin sons—Elrohir was taken in as soon as he reached his majority. 

Likewise, Legolas, having had the lordship of Eryn Gael, had also been asked to be part of it and oft represented Thranduil when the Elvenking was unable to attend. When the last ship from Middle-earth berthed in the lamp lit quays of Alqualondë, no doubt the Council would be further swelled by the august likes of Círdan the shipwright. 

Legolas had served the High Council well from the moment he was inducted into it and consequently was a most respected member. He had navigated the complicated byways of negotiations, diplomatic and otherwise, and weathered the most intricate and sometimes discordant political maneuverings. 

The latter had surprised him at first for he had admittedly expected Aman to be something of a perfectly benign haven. But, as he had learned in his century of residence in Eldamar, not even the Blessed Realm was spared the troubles that afflicted less than flawless beings even in so beauteous a people as the Firstborn. They could be as prideful and impatient and foolhardy as any of the other races that walked under the sun. But the one thing that differentiated them from the others was their intrinsic goodness. They could transgress but rarely were their sins born of evil. And of all Arda’s peoples, only they consistently revered the Powers and worshipped the One himself. 

Legolas had learned swiftly and ceased to be over troubled by the sometimes turbulent dealings within the Council. But in the last two years, he had stopped attending its weekly meetings. Indeed, he had attempted to resign but had been persuaded by the others to take a temporary leave instead. He had given his numerous duties in the Woodland Realm as his reason but, in truth, it had simply been a way of preventing more painful encounters with Elrohir. 

Legolas did not know how much more he could endure. Loneliness was his constant companion now for he had taken to avoiding being with Elrohir overmuch or overlong. Everything had changed irrevocably after the encounter at the cascades. He had not expected it but the sheer effort to retreat from his desire had wounded him far more deeply than he had known at the time. 

Where once he had found comfort in their friendship, he now felt anguish. Elrohir’s very presence hurt him more than soothed him. To be close to the Elf-knight and not be able to express his feelings and passions or receive any in return had turned into a torment so excruciating, it oft left him shaking with grief and near-hopelessness.

The few times he did encounter Elrond’s family, he would take his leave as soon as was decently possible. Better to retreat into solitude than to have to cope with Elrohir’s hurt confusion or Elladan’s reproach. But the result was isolation from the comfort of their friendship as well. 

He had found great solace in the company of Gimli and the Hobbits. The Dwarf’s supportiveness and the Hobbits’ unfailing cheer oft boosted his faltering spirits and his foundering hopes. Yet even they could not stave off despair forever. Sooner or late, he would feel the walls of sorrow and loneliness closing in on him once more. 

It was in this state of gloom that he let himself be dragged to the celebration. Yet despite his oblivion to the festivities he still attracted a fair amount of attention.

He had donned a delicately embroidered aquamarine tunic over a snowy shirt, the bluish-green garment making his hair shine even more brightly. Such comeliness joined with the maddening aloofness of his demeanor proved a most potent combination. Many eyes were drawn to him and not a few sought to attract his attention. He smiled and was pleasant but his heart was too heavy to do anything more. 

They had come straight to the festival from Taur Galen but would be staying the night in Artirion as Elrond’s guests. So far they had not seen the Peredhil lord and his family but that was no problem. As kin-by-marriage, they were free to come and go as they pleased in Elrond’s halls. And frankly, Legolas was somewhat relieved not to have to see Elrohir just yet while in so low a mood.

He was standing by one of the dancing fountains of the city while his parents spoke with friends when he felt eyes upon him. Turning he saw Elrohir across the square with his family and Gimli and the hobbits. The twin was staring at him with an expression Legolas could not quite fathom. Nor did he have the inclination to do so for he was suddenly overcome with anguish so great he could scarcely breathe let alone think.

In an effort to cope with his yearnings, Legolas had attempted to suppress as much of his memories with the darkling Elf-lord as he could. It hurt too much to remember the details of their time together when the other could not and, thus, was unable to share them with him. Better not to dwell on things that only made him dizzy with frustration and might yet bring him to the brink of despair.

But this...! It was as if he were seeing Elrohir for the first time. 

The other Elf was clad in sapphire and silver. The same colors he had worn in Minas Tirith the day of Eldarion’s betrothal some two centuries ago. He looked as breathtaking as he had that fateful day. Memories that Legolas had tried to bury flooded his mind; feelings he had sought to repress rose up within him. Shuddering at the onslaught, Legolas knew he could not remain in Tirion surrounded by so much joy when his own heart was shattering and his spirit mourning his loss anew. 

He spoke to no one, not even his parents. He raced to the stables, flung himself upon his steed and fled Tirion. Urging on his horse as if a horde of orcs was after him, he swiftly rode to Elrond’s halls.

Reaching the silent house, Legolas went straight to the bedchamber that was always reserved for him, storming past servants, entirely oblivious of their surprise and concern. Sinking down onto his bed, he felt his grief well up inexorably. Until this night he had managed to keep his grief in hand, letting others see only the merest shadow of it. He’d concealed his sorrow so deftly that not even his parents or sister realized the full extent of it. But now he could not keep the sorrow from overtaking him. 

He missed the other Elrohir—the Elrohir who had loved him and pursued him and made him his own. The yawning emptiness within him would not close, his wounded spirit refused to heal even here in the Blessed Realm. And seeing the younger twin at the festival had made him feel the loneliness more acutely than ever. 

He could not hold it in any longer. He wept as he had not wept in a very long time. 'I never imagined it could be this painful,' he thought in agony. 'If I cannot find peace in Valinor, where then shall I ever find it?'

“Legolas?”

He looked up in shock. Elrohir stood at his door, gazing at him with a pained expression. “What are you doing here?” Legolas managed to utter.

The other Elf entered the room, shutting the door behind him. “I saw you flee,” he said. “I followed you.” He came to Legolas and sat by him. He enclosed the golden-haired Elf in his arms and held him tightly. “Let me help you, Legolas. I cannot bear to see you in such straits,” he murmured. 

Legolas fought the despair that threatened to overwhelm him. How to tell Elrohir that his presence only pained him more? He tried to calm down; made an effort to hold back his tears. 

He lifted his head and tried to smile. “‘Tis good of you to comfort me,” he said. “I will be all right now. Though I must look like something dredged from the bottom of a Morgul swamp.”

Elrohir slipped his hand under his chin and tilted his face so that he could look upon it. His grey eyes glittered in the dim light. “Nay, you still look as beautiful as you did the day of Eldarion’s betrothal. You wore that same color and I thought it suited you so well.”

Legolas gaped at him in shock. He drew back suddenly, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You-you remember that?” he gasped. 

Elrohir reached up and tenderly tucked a wayward gold strand behind Legolas’s ear. “We bound to each other in Ithilien because you refused to wait the requisite year. Arwen was so heavy with child we all feared she would birth in the middle of the Rites.” His voice dropped lower, catching a little as he continued. “‘Twas because of our binding that Gilwen’s potion failed and poisoned me instead.” 

The prince stared at him dumbfounded. Part of him wondered if he had finally gone mad in his grief and was only hearing what he wanted to hear. Elrohir saw the fear in his eyes and understood. 

He held up his right hand. Legolas swallowed as he espied the gold band with its intertwined leaves and the single emerald on the twin’s index finger. The band he had placed on that finger so many years ago and later entrusted to him while he awaited the return of his memories.

“You are not imagining things, _bereth nîn_. When I saw you at the festival, I knew that you were once mine.” He stroked his knuckles across the prince’s fine jaw. “And you will be mine, Legolas,” he whispered. “I think you know that.”

Legolas caught his breath. So had Elrohir declared on Mount Mindolluin all those years ago. Overwhelmed, he finally gave in to his longing to hold the twin in his arms. He nearly sobbed anew when the embrace was returned with equal fervor. His heart lightened, his spirit soared. And suddenly he felt Elrohir’s soul speaking to his own once more in exultant recognition. His pain turned into almost unbearable joy.

“I feared you would never love me again,” he whispered chokingly and felt the grip on him tighten.

“I love you more than ever,” Elrohir replied tenderly. “And I curse my weakness for having been so slow to remember our bond,” he added more heatedly.

“Nay, Aduial, I bless your strength,” Legolas countered, “for how else were you able to persuade Námo to let you return to me so soon?”

“I told you I would go down on my knees and beg if that was what it would take.”

Legolas pulled back and stared at him. “And-and you did?” he said in awe.

“I did. I would have done anything to return to you, Calenlass.”

Legolas had not thought it possible for his feelings for Elrohir to deepen any further. For the proud Elf-knight to prostrate himself before anyone, to humbly plead for anything even of the Valar themselves, was simply inconceivable to any who knew him well. Yet he had done so for love of his forest prince. 'Whatever I suffered in all these lonely years was well worth it if this be my prize,' Legolas thought. 

Almost giddy with joy and gratitude, the prince looked at the other Elf and smiled. And the bright smile lit up his face, as it had not done since he left the shores of Middle-earth.

Elrohir sucked in his breath, mesmerized by the beauty of that smile. He cupped Legolas’s face in his hand and kissed him with infinite tenderness. Legolas felt the familiar thrill course through his limbs. It was the same as it had always been. He felt great peace and contentment envelop him. 

But as the kiss lengthened and deepened, he found himself hungering for much more. For too long had he suppressed his desire for the twin. For too long had he pretended indifference to his allure. With sudden ferocity, he pulled Elrohir into a tight embrace, pressed breath-claiming kisses upon the other’s mouth. 

Elrohir barely managed to draw back for a moment, startled by the prince’s fervor. Even the aborted interlude by the cascades had not educed so much keenness from the fair-haired archer. He tried to speak, his words punctuated by the other’s mind-clouding kisses. 

“Legolas! I have— never known— you— to be so— enthusiastic!”

Legolas only paused long enough to retort, “I have never had to wait so many years before!” ere capturing the twin’s lips again in another flurry of passionate caresses. 

He reached for the toggles on Elrohir’s tunic and began to undo them. To his exasperation they proved to be of a particularly uncooperative design. It took forever to unfasten just one elaborate clasp. 

Elrohir heard the sound of popping clasps and rending loops and realized that Legolas was forcibly pulling his tunic open, unmindful of the damage done to its fasteners. He jerked back in shock.

“What are you doing?” he gasped. 

Legolas acidly replied, “Your tunic is impossible to undo.” 

Elrohir gaped at him in amazement as the toggles on his raiment were systematically reduced to useless trim. “You are impatient, Thranduilion,” he commented wryly.

“I am done with waiting!” the archer snapped back.

In the same moment, both Elves recognized the similarity of their conversation to one that had occurred two hundred years ago, only with their roles reversed. Legolas paused for a moment as they grinned at each other and at the memory. But soon the impatient light came back into his eyes. Elrohir hastily grasped his hands. 

“There is no need for haste,” he softly reasoned. “We have all eternity before us.”

“But after all my waiting, even eternity is not enough for me,” Legolas pointed out, pulling his hands free and ridding Elrohir’s tunic of its last fastener. “I do not wish to waste even a single moment of time that we have together. Now take off your clothes before I tear them off you!”

Startled and quite overcome by the prince’s peremptory command, Elrohir quickly doffed his garments. With similar haste, Legolas shed his own suddenly cumbersome raiment. But his eyes remained riveted on the warrior, their sapphire depths glittering as long desired flesh was revealed. 

His appreciative and alarmingly ravenous regard was not lost on Elrohir. His breath quickened and his heart began to beat wildly. 

Hardly had he managed to finish undressing when the prince bore him down upon the bed. And then Legolas was kissing him fiercely, holding him flush against his own form so that their forms almost merged together. He wasted no time at all reclaiming virtually every inch of his Elf-knight’s body. 

Elrohir laughed then cried out under Legolas’s salacious attentions. It seemed there was no part of his body that was not marked by crimson bruises wrought by the prince’s ardent use of his lips and teeth and tongue. And the knowing hands, so skilled with bow and knife, were proving as lethal to his equilibrium and dignity. He was kissed and nipped and laved, fondled and stroked and clutched with near overwhelming hunger. 

For once, the Elf-rider found himself giving thought to whether they could be heard outside the bedchamber as his mate’s lustful assault progressed in intensity. But when Legolas voraciously attacked his throbbing need, he abandoned all thoughts of anything at all save how to survive the almost harrowing rapture he was being subjected to. Caught between exquisite pain and excruciating pleasure, he shuddered and gasped as his golden spouse swiftly brought him to completion then greedily drank him down. 

With almost fearsome haste, Legolas wedged himself between Elrohir’s legs. But a moment later, he saw the sudden tension in the other’s eyes and recalled that his mate’s refashioned form was as still untouched. In the slow reformation of his body, had its knowledge of his possession by the archer been restored as well? Forcing himself to slow down, he sought Elrohir’s compliance first. 

“ _Melethen_ , I do not wish to hurt you but I must have you,” he whispered imploringly, eyes near blackened to indigo in his lust. “It has been far too long...” 

The tension in the Elf-knight’s eyes gave way to trust. “I am ever yours, Calenlass,” he said in a hushed voice. “Have me as you wish.” He invitingly snaked his legs around the archer’s trim waist. 

Legolas groaned at the wanton offer. With joyful, needful tears stinging his eyes, he took what he had so long yearned for and, with one smooth thrust, sank into the silken depths of his mate’s lithe body. Shuddering with barely restrained passion, he began to drive slowly and deeply into Elrohir’s welcoming warmth 

Elrohir gasped from the initial shock of that first entry. But the shock soon gave way to remembered ecstasy at their joinings. Just as swiftly he came back to full arousal, which the archer immediately and literally took in hand. With typical lack of inhibition, the Elf-knight not only submitted to the prince’s desire but aided and abetted it as well, pushing eagerly into his binding-mate’s near savage thrusts until they felt the complete and sublime renewal of their bond; shared the precious connection on every level of their beings as the binding-channel opened between them in full and they became one again, heart, body and spirit. Completion overtook them and they both tumbled into a figurative abyss of mind-boggling bliss. 

Legolas did not know how often he claimed his Elf-knight in the course of their glorious reunion. He only knew that at long last he could. And did.

oOoOoOo

Hours later, a group of patently agitated Elves and one scowling Dwarf arrived in the vale. Elrond and Celebrían swept into their halls followed quickly by Thranduil, Ithilwen, Gimli, Elladan and Nimeithel. They had discovered the sudden disappearances of the youngest sons of their houses and, with judicious questioning of a variety of witnesses, had learned that Legolas had departed for Artirion in a frightful hurry. Elrohir had followed him soon after. Every witness had remarked upon the less than calm demeanor of either Elf and that had triggered their respective family’s worries. 

What had compelled Legolas to leave Tirion so precipitately and spurred Elrohir to pursue him? Had they quarreled and parted in anger? Mayhap that was why Elrohir had gone after Legolas? 

Quick inquiries from the servants yielded the information that the prince had arrived in a bad state. He had been very distraught, sweeping past them, unmindful of their greetings or queries of concern, and practically racing to his chamber. Soon after, Lord Elrohir had suddenly shown up, too, took no more heed of them than the prince had, and headed in the general direction of Legolas’s room. And, yes, he had been quite troubled; they had all noticed the twin’s grim expression. 

More alarmed than ever, the party hastened to Legolas’s chamber. At the door, Thranduil listened closely for sounds that might indicate what was happening within. Total silence greeted him. That did it. There were supposed to be two Elves in there, both in a state of disquiet if not downright distress. It was not supposed to be silent!

He glanced at Elrond and saw that the Elvenlord had come to the same conclusion. Without further ado, the Elvenking opened his son’s door and strode into the room, closely followed by the others. They all came to an abrupt stop on the threshold, their eyes wide with shock, mouths gaping in amazement. 

The two Elves lay on their sides on the bed, Legolas behind Elrohir, his arm wrapped around the Elf-knight, holding the twin in the curve of his body. Beneath the covers, the others could discern their legs, entwined intimately. They looked utterly spent and utterly peaceful. There was no mistaking what had passed between them earlier. 

Of a sudden, Gimli whispered, “Look!” whilst pointing at Elrohir’s right hand where it lay upon the bed. On the index finger was the long-missed gold band the Dwarf himself had forged at Legolas’s request, the symbol of the Elf-rider’s binding to the prince.

Everyone relaxed in relief and happiness. With profound gratitude in their hearts, Thranduil and Ithilwen gazed at their son. A smile of serenity and contentment softened his fair features.

The woodland queen quietly approached the bed, the lady of the vale accompanying her. The two ladies sought to pull the covers over their sons’ forms but Legolas’s arm, as it curled around Elrohir’s body, pinned it down. As gently as possible, Ithilwen raised his arm off the twin to free the covers.

A slight frown marred his brow as, even in slumber, he felt the momentary loss of contact with his spouse. Ithilwen had to smile as Legolas, still asleep, insistently curled his arm once more around Elrohir and drew him even closer than before. She looked up at Celebrían and saw that her smile was mirrored in the other’s countenance. They pulled the covers up and lovingly tucked in their sons then walked back to rejoin the others.

The group departed the bedchamber, their hearts warm and full. Before closing the door behind them, Thranduil and his wife took one last look at the sleeping lovers. Tender smiles lit up their faces.

After so lengthy a wait and much heartache, their Greenleaf had found his reward. His Elf-knight was finally returned to him.

***********************************  
Glossary:  
lairë – Quenya for summer  
bereth nîn – my spouse  
Aduial – Twilight  
Thranduilion – son of Thranduil  
Calenlass – Greenleaf  
melethen – my love

_To be continued…_


	21. XX. For Love of a Green Leaf

The lovers came down to the morning meal to find everyone awaiting them. A knowing smile lit up every face, which had the effect of making Legolas blush with embarrassment even as his heart swelled with joy. He glanced a little guiltily at Elrohir who thankfully looked none the worse for wear from their long night’s loving. The results of his considerable usage by his golden spouse had been dealt with by the liberal application of a potent medicinal salve. 

The meal proved most merry what with Elladan’s suggestive asides, Elendir and Elros’s mischievous comments and Elrohir’s wicked ripostes. Legolas’s desire to crawl under a table until both sets of twins ceased their lascivious banter was hilariously palpable. By the time breakfast was over, he was rosier than the berries that had graced the table. It did not help that his parents seemed able to take the lubricious sallies in stride. Since when had they become less reserved about such matters? 

An early visitor took them by surprise as they came out of the dining hall. Gandalf swept into the house, hastily greeted Elrond and Thranduil and their wives then took one look at the two reunited Elves with their arms around each other’s waist and beamed broadly. He suddenly said: “My congratulations to both of you.” He addressed Elrohir. “I confess I was a little anxious that you might not yet have recovered fully.” 

“You expected this?” Elrohir said after a startled pause.

“Hoped for it,” Gandalf amended. “We have been awaiting yesterday’s advent for many a year.”

“We?”

“All the Valar and I of course.”

“But why?” Legolas inquired after a stunned while. “What was so special about yesterday?”

“Do you not recall?” Gandalf smiled. “‘Twas the same day in the same year in the last age that you and Elrohir first met under the eaves of Greenwood the Great!”

A concerted gasp answered his announcement. 

“Valar! He is right!” Elladan exclaimed. “I wonder that we did not mark it.”

Ithilwen suddenly bristled. “Does this mean you knew all along just when Elrohir would recover his wholeness?’” she demanded. “And you left my son to suffer in his ignorance of this?” 

“Peace, my lady,” Gandalf said placatingly. The woodland queen’s temper was sweet as a rule, but she could be fearsome when roused to anger. “I did not inform Legolas for there was no surety at all of this. We only hoped the import of yesterday would make its mark on Elrohir’s spirit and heal it at last.”

“Heal it?” Elrond repeated. “But healing should have been completed in the Halls of Awaiting.”

“Under normal circumstances, aye. But not when mandrake was the cause of his passing.”

Elrond stared at him in puzzlement. “He is not the first Elf to die from the untimely consumption of mandrake,” he protested.

“But he is the first Elf to have been released earlier than his appointed time,” Gandalf pointed out. 

While the others stared at him in bewilderment, Thranduil spoke up. “Elrond, let us all go somewhere more private. I do not care to discuss this in the middle of your main hall.”

Elrond acquiesced and led the way to the Hall of Fire. There the Istar was immediately enjoined to explain his puzzling declaration to the gathered Elves.

“Your son is most eloquent,” Gandalf told Elrond and Celebrían. “He refused to leave Námo in peace and pleaded with him to release him soonest. Not for his own sake but out of fear for Legolas. ‘Twas this that touched Námo and moved him to permit Elrohir to return before his time. I believe only your foremother, Luthien, and Finrod son of Finarfin have stayed a briefer time in Mandos’s Halls than he.”

“But you say he was not yet wholly healed,” Celebrían pointed out. “Did Námo not know this?” 

“Námo had no knowledge of the effects of mandrake upon an Elf who had stayed but a few years within his halls,” the former wizard elucidated. “The Valar may be all-powerful but they are not omnipotent. It was only when Elrohir’s memories of his binding to Legolas failed to return that we realized his spirit was still unhealed in full.” He looked keenly at Elrohir. “Once you returned to your corporeal form, the mandrake’s effect on you manifested itself in full. While it could not have turned you to Gilwen at the time you consumed it, it did have the power to block your memories of your love for Legolas. Had you not died of it, you would have eventually forgotten everything you had ever felt for him outside of your friendship.”

Legolas whitened and reached for Elrohir’s hand instinctively. The Elf-knight gripped it reassuringly in turn.

“Then it was just as well that I did not survive it,” Elrohir whispered. He smothered Legolas’s protest with a swift kiss. “To have forgotten your love would have been a fate worse than death,” he said. “Dying was not too great a price to pay for the reward of being with you evermore.”

Legolas could only mutely nod before burying himself in Elrohir’s balming arms. But he could not quite stop himself from trembling and clung tightly to his spouse.

Elrond let out a relieved breath. “Then we must be thankful matters turned out as they did,” he remarked. “But you mentioned you were hoping for yesterday’s advent. Why would the day make such a mark when other more potent reminders did not?’’

“Because he was nearing the completion of his recovery,” Gandalf explained. “Námo sensed this but could not foresee the actual day it would happen. He hoped Elrohir’s spirit would recognize the day he had met his beloved. Which is why he had his brother Irmo beguile Legolas into donning the colors that he wore when Elrohir decided to declare his love to him.”

Legolas stared at him. “Beguile me?” 

Elladan asked him suddenly: “What did you originally plan to wear yestereve, _gwanur_?”

“A black tunic,” Legolas answered promptly. “To match my mood.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

Legolas shrugged. “I am not certain,” he admitted. “It just occurred to me that Elrohir would not be pleased to see me thus garbed.” He stopped and stared at Gandalf. “Are you implying that Irmo put the idea in my head?”

Gandalf nodded with a smile. “The Valar cannot directly control others’ thoughts or deeds. But they can manipulate events or incidents that might influence those thoughts and deeds as they desire.” 

“Then all those dreams and coincidences that sparked memories...” Nimeithel began.

“Were orchestrated by the Powers,” Thranduil finished. The Elvenking shook his head in some awe. “Every time I think I know all there is to know about life, I am disabused of the notion,” he said ruefully.

“Life will always be a mystery,” Gandalf agreed. “Even to the Valar themselves.” He looked at Legolas and his returned Elf-knight again, his wizened eyes alight with felicity for them. “And now? What do you plan to do?”

“I want Elrohir to come home with me,” Legolas said abruptly. “Today.”

“Do you not wish to wait out the end of the festival, _muindor_?”—brother—Nimeithel asked. 

Legolas shook his head. He looked at Elrohir imploringly. “I have kept our home ready for you all these years, Aduial,” he softly said. 

“We shall leave for Taur Galen at once, _melethen_ ”—my love—Elrohir replied with a tender smile.

Gandalf chuckled of a sudden. “Then I wish you good luck, Legolas,” he said. “And I hope you do not plan to do any riding tomorrow!”

Legolas blushed deeply while the others looked on in bemusement.

oOoOoOo

The reunited lovers departed with Thranduil and Ithilwen for Taur Galen as soon as Elrohir had packed enough belongings to tide him over until his parents could send the rest to him. Thranduil invited Elrond’s family to join them before the week was up. He also bade the Artirion lord to ask Glorfindel and Erestor and Elros’s betrothed, Lindir, to come along as well as Gimli and the Halflings. 

“I think we can celebrate the festival far more joyously on our own now that our sons are together again,” he wryly told Elrond. 

Elrond smiled and agreed. “We will come to Taur Galen soonest,” he said.

oOoOoOo

The youngest prince of the Woodland Realm of Taur Galen watched his spouse as the other stood on the balcony of their bedchamber looking up at the stars with delight. He knew what Elrohir had sought and found. His grandfather’s light. In some wondrous way, Elrond and his sons were able to communicate with the Mariner as he plied the firmament in his hallowed ship. It was ever the way of the brethren to impart glad tidings to their father’s sire.

And such glad tidings they were indeed. Legolas thought back to the throng of Wood-elves that had gathered before his father’s palace to welcome the Elf-knight home. He had sent word ahead to his household staff to ready themselves for their other lord’s permanent homecoming. And for once they had thrown discretion to the wind and word had swiftly gotten around that Elrohir was at last restored to their prince.

He had almost wept when he first came to Valinor and been greeted by his father’s people but without Elrohir at his side. Now, he could barely contain his joy or keep his heart from bursting from it. And the feeling had continued throughout the day as Elrohir settled into their home then explored the forest kingdom with him, not as a well-loved friend and guest, but as his beloved mate and one of the Wood-elves’ own. 

This willingness of Elrohir to cleave not just to him but to his kindred as well moved Legolas beyond description. His gesture of long ago had enabled the Elvenking to build a dwelling for his youngest son alike to the house Legolas and Elrohir had shared in lovely Ithilien. It had been his way of telling his prince that he would make his home wherever Legolas abided. Now that gesture was made true. 

After a while, he rose from the couch by the hearth and joined Elrohir on the balcony. The warrior smiled a welcome at him when he felt Legolas come up behind him and slip his arms around his waist. And he grinned inwardly as he felt a telltale hardness press against his back; they were clad in naught but their thin night-robes.

“Aduial?” Legolas murmured. “Last night, you said you recalled I was yours when you saw me in Tirion. Yet you only offered me succor when you joined me in my room.”

Elrohir turned slightly and pulled him into the curve of his arm. Legolas nestled his head against the warrior’s sleek neck. “I remembered I had wooed you and that for a while you had yielded to me,” he said. “But not our binding. Not yet.”

“Yet you wore your ring.”

“Out of jealousy.”

Legolas lifted his head and stared at him in surprise. “You were jealous?” he gasped.

Elrohir nodded. “My motives in following you were not so noble,” he admitted. “I envied he who had won you at the last. I found I had ceased to care that we would betray your vows.” He pressed his lips against the archer’s smooth temple. “When I offered you my help, I was ready to transgress against everything I had been taught if only I could have you.” 

Legolas gazed at him in some awe. This was the Elrohir of yore who had been quite capable of taking what he desired even to the extent of bending rules and wills. He shivered slightly at the thought of what might have happened had his darkling mate gone through with his intent without recalling that he alone was entitled to the archer’s favors. Perversely, it caused a thrill of anticipation to course up his spine.

“When did you finally recall everything?” he whispered.

Elrohir tucked a shining lock behind his ear, then let his finger trace the delicate curve of the prince’s ear. Faint color stained Legolas’s cheeks at the intimate caress.

“When you wept and I held you close, the memories began to surface, one by one,” Elrohir said. “Just as I recounted them to you. When I realized that you were mine all along, that I had every right to wear the ring you had entrusted to me—I was so joyful and relieved that I could only tell you the truth as it came back to me.” 

He regarded Legolas musingly. For he had noted the slight shadow in the prince’s eyes since the morning. “What troubles you still, Calenlass?” he quietly asked.

Legolas sighed. “I confess I worry that— that this may be but a dream and—” He pressed closer to his mate. “I am afraid that I will wake up and find you still apart from me.”

Elrohir felt his heart ache for his golden spouse. What must it have been like for Legolas waiting all these years without the certitude of his return? While he had waited for centuries uncounted for the right moment to declare himself to the archer, he had been free to seek comfort elsewhere for his sorrow. Only when he had bound himself in secret to Legolas had that option ceased. But Legolas, widowed yet bound, alone but held to his eternal oath, could not do the same. A century of waiting was dreadful enough. Elrohir did not care to imagine what a whole millennium as Námo had originally decreed for him would have done to the archer. He would never tell Legolas this one aspect of his time in the Halls of Awaiting. 

He released his spouse only to take his hand and lead him back into their room and to their wide bed. “Come, I will show you that there is nothing to fear,” he cooed to the suddenly blushing archer. “I will prove that I am restored to you evermore.”

Legolas shivered as he was disrobed and pressed down into the bed. The first time he had lain here with Elrohir, the Elf-knight had been but a child in his care. Now... He closed his eyes as his lips were caught in a searing kiss. 

His hands were caught and raised and pinned to the headboard. A moment later, he started as he felt his wrists bound by something soft yet strong. His eyes snapped open when Elrohir drew away and he looked up in time to see the warrior knotting the other end of the sash of his own robe to the headboard.

“What— what are you doing?” he whispered tremulously. A hand caressed him from an outstretched arm to his chest then on to his waist and down to his hip and one thigh. He swallowed hard when he saw the grey eyes light up with a familiar wicked gleam.

“Last night was for you, my golden prince,” Elrohir murmured with the drawl that portended calamity of a different sort for Legolas. “Tonight, I wish to know you again. All of you.”

“But— but why bind me?” Legolas protested weakly. He groaned as the Elf-knight leaned down and nuzzled the side of his neck. He felt the warrior’s lips against his ear.

“That I may not be hindered by any resistance on your part, _melethron_ ”—lover—came the salacious reply. 

In one fluid motion, the twin moved atop the prince, straddling his hips. Legolas found himself burning intensely as Elrohir proceeded to explore him wholly and thoroughly once more. 

Elrohir took his time partaking of the bounty of delights laid out before him though deep within he was shuddering with near feral wanting. Too long had he restrained himself from sating his desire for his then unknown mate. Too long had he feigned disinterest in taking the archer to his bed.

He marked the prince’s lean arms and shoulders with crimson stains before claiming the pale column of his stately neck and throat, smiling against the sweet flesh when he heard Legolas’s needful whimpers. He silenced his mate, hungrily ravaging the prince’s mouth until the other’s lips were enticingly swollen. He drew away and grinned with satisfaction when Legolas moaningly protested the loss of contact.

He moved downwards and rapaciously nipped and suckled the archer’s nipples until the roseate nubs were achingly hard and Legolas was straining up against him. Answering his own body’s need for release, Elrohir reached between them and covetously stroked their slick and turgid lengths together. Legolas gasped then cried out. The prince was torn between bucking up into the warrior’s mauling hands and attempting to turn away to escape the almost excruciating pleasure. 

“Elrohir! Please, I cannot take this!” Legolas pleaded, wriggling desperately while his bound hands kept him in Elrohir’s sensual thrall.

“But you can and you will,” Elrohir said imperiously, his own voice roughening as he neared completion. “Spend yourself with me, Calenlass. _Now_.” 

Legolas did. Explosively. 

Rendered quite drained and sated, he was in no condition to protest Elrohir’s continued ravishment. The Elf-knight paused only long enough to recover his breath before pressing on with his assault on the prince. 

He pried Legolas’s thighs apart with startling impatience. The archer cried out hoarsely as Elrohir claimed him anew, plunging his tongue into him with explicit possessiveness, stroking him from within until he thought he would go mad from the joy. It was blatantly evident that Elrohir had not lost a single iota of his skill when it came to the carnal arts. Not that Legolas was complaining. Not in the least! 

And then he was swallowed whole while Elbereth only knew how many fingers ably replaced the warrior’s tongue within him. He could not hold himself in for long under such edacious treatment and he spilled his release into Elrohir’s mouth, gasping sobbingly as he was summarily drained of every last drop of seed. 

As he lay panting weakly, the Elf-knight took the opportunity to lick him clean of his earlier release, his lips and tongue ghosting over his belly and the delicate clefts where thighs joined groin to lap up the prince’s opalescent seed. Legolas moaned at the light but arousing sensation. The maddeningly ephemeral caresses continued down the tops of his thighs all the way to his calves and ankles and even his toes. Legolas whimpered as each was licked and sucked teasingly. He did not recall Elrohir ever having done that before!

The warrior made his way up once more, his caresses becoming more possessive; suckling at the soft flesh of the archer’s inner thighs, leaving scarlet bruises on the white skin. Onwards he moved, emphatically caressing the fair flesh in the most intimate of places, marking the woodland prince as his own. Until at last, he covered Legolas’s body with his own once more and cupped the prince’s face to capture him in another heated kiss. 

Lips collided with bruising force, long limbs entangled with abandon, sable and gold mingled wantonly upon pale shoulders and snowy sheets. Their forms moved with passionate fervor upon the bed, uncaring of anything save what all senses could savor of the other. Their joint rapture flowed freely and fiercely between them, rendering them almost breathless with the ferocious intensity of it.

By the time Elrohir lifted his hips and legs, Legolas lacked the strength or will to resist anything the warrior might wish to do with him. He groaned as he was taken deeply and thoroughly. Eyes streaming from this pleasure, he could only lie helplessly as he was repeatedly speared. He had not forgotten how formidably endowed his mate was but mere memory could not compare with the actual experience of it after so long a time. When Elrohir began to stroke him as well with every thrust, he at last broke down and openly wept.

“Please... I need to hold you,” he implored between sobs.

Nearly as undone by his mate’s plea as by the exquisite sensation of his enclosing warmth, Elrohir swiftly released his hands. The prince at once reached for him and pulled him close, sealing his lips in near frantic need to the warrior’s. The exchange of thought and feeling between them coupled with their own raging pleasure completely unraveled them. 

Legolas cried out against Elrohir’s mouth, echoed an instant later by the Elf-knight as they both reached the summit of their loving almost simultaneously. They held each other tightly as they rode out the results of their vigorous coupling. 

In the aftermath of their union, Legolas lay back trying to catch his breath and await the slowing of his heart. Elrohir reached over and drew him close. He gazed at the warrior, taking in every fair feature in wonder and thankfulness. 

“I love you so, Elrohir _nín_ ”—my Elrohir—he murmured, eyes glistening with cerulean clarity.

Elrohir smiled. “I trust you are no longer afraid?” he quietly said. 

Legolas shook his head. “I am all too convinced that you are indeed restored to me,” he laughed softly. “Thank you for assuring me in so sublime a manner.” 

“Do not thank me yet, Calenlass,” Elrohir said. “I am hardly done with you.” 

Legolas caught his breath and stared at his mate. The twilight eyes were darkening with every passing minute. Legolas knew then that the twin’s passion was not yet spent but merely banked for the moment.

“Are you not weary?” he quavered, unsure whether he was trembling in delight or trepidation.

“Far from it,” Elrohir purred. 

He shivered with delicious expectation as Elrohir leaned over to kiss him. Countless wild heartbeats later, he found himself on his side with Elrohir behind him, gasping with each delving entry into his body. Spending himself yet again into the warrior’s too skillful hands, he subsided in a limp heap, whimpering with pleasure as he felt his core blessed with the Elf-knight’s warm seed.

To his surprise, Elrohir did not withdraw from him but only held him closer in the curve of his body.

“Aduial?” he whisperingly said, turning his head to glance at his mate. 

Elrohir kissed him gently and shook his head. “You always enjoyed prolonging our oneness,” he reminded the archer. “Has that changed?”

Legolas’s eyes widened. And then he smiled luminously. “You remember,” he said in a hushed voice. At Elrohir’s nod, he took another draught of the warrior’s lips. “Nay, that has not changed at all.”

He settled happily against his spouse, secure in his embrace, the knowledge and sensation of their continued togetherness erasing the last of his doubts and anxieties. 

Elrohir was truly returned to him. For good. 

********************************  
Glossary:  
gwanur – brother or sister but a more accurate translation would be kinsman or kinswoman  
Elrohir nîn – my Elrohir

_To be concluded…_


	22. Epilogue: Soul's Promise

As they rode out into the forest with the rest of the party, Legolas felt Elrohir’s gaze upon him and he glanced at the twin. A meaningful gleam lit the Elf-knight’s pewter eyes from within, making the archer blush. It reminded him all too vividly of what had passed between them this morn. 

He had awakened from blissful slumber to the feel of Elrohir’s mouth upon his shaft, coaxing him out of sleep, teasing him into full awareness and a potent arousal. But the twin had wickedly declined to do anything further about that and lured him instead into the warm bath he had prepared for both of them.

Once in the balming heat of the bathwater, however, Elrohir had turned on him with roguish ardor, making every stroke and caress and kiss an incendiary gesture. Somewhere along the way, he’d found himself on a thick towel on the floor by the bath, writhing and gasping wildly whilst the twin finally paid loving attention to the rampant need between his thighs. 

No sooner had he spent himself in Elrohir’s gifted mouth than the Elf-knight had taken him in turn, summarily burying himself to the hilt in the velvety confines of his ever so eager form. Then he’d driven relentlessly into him while his hands and mouth brought his body back to thrumming, thrashing life. The result of such treatment was explosive to say the least.

Legolas felt his blush deepen as he recalled the knowing grins upon the faces of their immediate neighbors in the nearby royal pavilion. Elladan and Nimeithel, Gimli, Glorfindel and Erestor, Elendir, and Elros and Lindir had not hidden their amusement at all when they met up later in the morning. As for their not-so-immediate neighbours—well, nothing could quite adequately evince the exasperated countenances of their respective parents. He could only imagine who else had heard his too fervent vocal expressions of pleasure and hoped not everyone had recognized the owner of said expressions! The Hobbits, at least, seemed oblivious, thank the Valar.

'Trust a Peredhel twin to make you lose all sense of propriety,' he ruefully thought.

This morning both families and friends set out on a picnic. They made for the forest river that marked the boundary of the Woodland Realm. Here they would eat and drink and simply enjoy each other’s company. They did not mind when several other groups of Elves came to the river. It was, after all, a popular location for such revels, its beauty and serenity soothing to all and sundry. Besides, with the festival just over, it was not surprising that many Elves would seek ways to unwind from the festivities of the previous days. 

After the meal, Legolas took a leisurely stroll along the riverbank while waiting for Elladan and Elrohir to conclude a lively debate with Erestor. He looked back and grinned as he regarded his spouse’s animated gestures. The twins had never done anything by halves; from the looks of it, Erestor was in for a long and fearsome discussion. Deciding to go back and help a nettled Glorfindel break up the rapidly escalating argument, he retraced his steps only to be suddenly hindered by an unexpected obstacle.

He glanced frowningly at the Elf who had barred his way and inwardly groaned. Bregon. It would have to be him. He forced a civil smile upon his face.

“My dear prince,” the other Elf cooed. “I could hardly believe my good fortune to find you here as well.”

“Good fortune?” Legolas commented. “Last I recall, I left you sitting in a pond. You can hardly wish to be in my presence after that incident.”

The Elf laughed with spurious penitence. “I do not hold it against you, golden one,” he said glibly. “I admit I had imbibed too much and may have been more forward than you were used to.”

‘Forward?’ Legolas thought incredulously. The fool had tried to take him right in Celebrían’s gardens! His smile turned visibly frosty. Unfortunately, such subtle nuances seemed lost on the brash Elf before him.

“Well, ‘tis pleasant to see you again,” Legolas lied through his teeth. “Now if you will excuse me...” He lifted his hand in a gesture of farewell.

To his shock, Bregon caught his hand in a steely grip. He stared at the other Elf, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “You take too many liberties, Bregon,” he warned.

“Nay, I am but merely preempting another unfortunate flip into chill waters,” Bregon chuckled crooningly. “I have no desire to take a swim in the river this morn. As they say forewarned is forearmed. You are as mettlesome as you are beautiful, Legolas, but as you can see, I came prepared in case you tried that little trick on me again.” He leered suggestively at the prince. “A nice move, I must admit. Mayhap I should try it myself. You would look utterly stunning lying on your back, my fair one.”

Legolas was rendered speechless by the sheer crudeness of his pursuer. A slow rage began to build up within. What did this insolent creature take him to be? A tawdry bed-treat?

“You are quiet, my prince,” Bregon grinned smugly. “Mayhap you think my declaration lacking. Let me complete it thusly. You would look utterly stunning lying on your back and even more exquisite with the right Elf between your thighs.”

That was it! He was on the verge of beating up this pathetically hopeless idiot within an inch of his life when movement behind the latter caught his attention. Over the persistent Elf’s shoulder, Legolas espied a figure rapidly nearing him and Bregon. 

He looked back at the other and with deceptive mildness said, “I think you had best unhand me right now.”

Bregon smiled and replied, “I think not, _cunn lend_.”—sweet prince. “Not until you have given me some token of, shall we say, encouragement?” He lustfully beamed at the prince and raised the latter’s imprisoned hand to his lips. 

A powerful hand grasped his shoulder and spun him around. Bregon yelped as he was slammed against a tree with a very solid forearm rammed against his windpipe. He found himself lifted a few inches off the ground, goggling frantically as his air supply dwindled to nothing. A pair of silvery eyes glared icily at him. 

“ _He. Is. Mine._ ” Elrohir’s voice seethed with barely contained rage. “Keep your hands off him lest you desire a prolonged stay in the gardens of Lórien!”

The twin abruptly let go of the choking Elf. Bregon fell in an inelegant heap, clawing at his much-abused throat. But a moment later, he was roughly hauled up by the scruff of his neck and unceremoniously hurled into the river, the Elf-knight coldly oblivious of his shrieks of terror. 

After dusting off his hands disdainfully, Elrohir grabbed Legolas by the wrist and walked away, unmindful of the shocked stares upon them. Just as the warrior pulled him away, the archer glanced at the hapless, floundering Elf and called out, “I warned you!”

He allowed Elrohir to lead him a fair distance from the rest of party. He grinned as he listened to the warrior’s muttered oaths in Quenya, Sindarin, Westron and even a few choice words in Rohirric and Dwarvish. Suddenly, Elrohir came to a halt and turned on his heel to face Legolas.

“Lecherous, presumptuous knave!” he growled. “Just who is this Bregon to you?”

“He is merely an Elf who tried to seduce me before your rebirth,” Legolas answered with a small smile.

Elrohir’s eyes flashed furiously. “And just how did you respond to his enticements?” he demanded ominously.

The prince smirked. “I flipped him into the pond in your mother’s garden to douse his ardor.”

The twin stared at him in surprise though his anger did not completely dissipate. He laughed dryly. “Did you now?” he said. “Yet judging from his persistence, it seems his ardor was not doused enough.”

“It is now,” Legolas grinned. “Your return is timely, Elrohir.”

“So it would seem.” 

Legolas wondered at his mate’s jealous response. “ _Melethen_ , you were the only _ellon_ whose touch I could bear, the only one I desired,” he softly said. “And now, you are the only Elf I want. Do you not trust me?”

Elrohir cast a glance in the direction of the other Elves. With the exception of his and the prince’s immediate families and household members, the rest were watching them with ill-concealed curiosity. He frowned. 

“Oh, I trust _you_ , Legolas,” he replied. “But _they_ are another matter. ‘Tis intolerable that they should continue to approach you in my presence.”

“You only recovered your memories but four days ago,” Legolas reminded him. “They do not know you recall our binding.”

Elrohir’s frown deepened into a scowl. “Then I think ‘tis time I made it clear once and for all just who you belong to, _ernil daur_.”—forest prince.

He suddenly pulled Legolas into a crushing embrace and, in front of everyone, kissed him with such burning zeal as to ensure no one would ever dispute his ownership of the youngest prince of Taur Galen. When he finally saw fit to end the kiss it was clearly apparent he had succeeded beyond measure for every Elf who did not know of the full return of his memories, now looked on aghast. And amongst those who had sought to woo the archer despite his espousal to Elrond’s younger son, belated consternation as well. Some hastily made themselves scarce before the Elf-warrior’s baleful regard should be drawn to their shameful selves. 

Flushed and panting slightly from Elrohir’s passion, Legolas humorously noted the mirth of Elladan and Nimeithel and their twins, the resigned demeanors of Glorfindel, Erestor and Lindir, Gimli’s rolling eyes, the wide-eyed stares of the Hobbits and the long-suffering expressions on the faces of his and Elrohir’s parents. 

He chuckled a little breathlessly. “I think you have more than made your point,” he smiled. 

He did not doubt that word would spread swiftly that it was no longer safe to even look covetously at him, much less dare to approach him for anything more than platonic reasons. That was a relief the prince was looking forward to. 

His eyes turned serious. “Never leave me again, Aduial,” he whispered, tilting his head so that his brow touched the Elf-knight’s.

Elrohir’s eyes softened and he solemnly murmured, “I promise, Calenlassen, I will never leave you again.” 

Legolas smiled in joyful contentment. For this was one promise that would be kept. 

An eternity of love stretched out before them. There could be no greater bliss. 

***********************************  
Glossary:  
melethen - my love  
Aduial - Twilight  
Calenlassen - my Greenleaf

_The End_


End file.
